Puppetry of the Heinous
by Jane Wilde
Summary: The new DADA teacher puts Professor Snape and Hermione in a rather strange position, which forces them into completely unknown territory. Didn't you ever wonder what hidden talents some people had?
1. The Final Return

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to she who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling. All thanks to her and my computer.

Chpater 1  - Final Return

Hermione met Harry and Ron on Platform 9 and three quarters for their final year. Her parents had taken her to Germany for the holidays so she couldn't meet them at any other time, since she got her school supplies at the very last minute. As she ran through the barrier, she looked around for a familiar face. Harry rushed up to her and hugged her while Ron stood awkwardly beside them. He seemed happy to see her, but he was shy of her, and she was in no doubt as to why.

"Hi, Hermione, how've you been?" Harry asked enthusiastically, "We haven't seen you in ages!"

"Oh, I'm alright," she answered with a smile.

"How was Germany?" Ron asked.

"Oh, it was wonderful," Hermione said excitedly, "They have the most wonderful magical creature zoo there, it was brilliant! I learned so much!"

The boys groaned at her.

"You've got it muddled up, Hermione," Ron said as he picked up her trunk and took it onto the train, "we learn things _after term starts, not before."_

"Shut up," she said as she glared at him, "Anyway, last year here. Excited?"

"Sad," Harry said, though still smiling.

"Yeah, very sentimental and all that," said Ron offhandedly as he came back off the train, "But we'll never have to Have Snape again!"

"Or Professor Binns," added Harry.

"Or Professor Trelawney" Ron continued.

"And we'll never have to see dear old Draco any more," Harry said thankfully.

"But we'll see Hagrid a lot less," Hermione countered.

"Hello Hermione," Mrs Weasley greeted her, "How was Germany?"

"Wonderful." Hermione grinned

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, dear," Said Mrs Weasley kindly, and then turned to Harry. "Harry, have you seen Ginny? She forgot to take her lunch." 

For a moment Hermione wondered why she'd asked Harry and not Ron, then remembered that at the end of last year Harry had summoned up the courage to firstly ask Ron if he'd mind, then actually ask Ginny out. She assumed they'd been spending…a bit of time together.

"She's probably already on the train already, Mrs Weasley" Harry answered, "If you'd like I can give it to her."

"Thank you dear," Mrs Weasley said. Not a moment later the whistle sounded and they all hurried onto the train and waved their goodbyes from the window.

They all sat down, Harry, Ron and Hermione, Crookshanks eyeing Pigwidgeon hungrily, Hedwig sleeping contently.

"I tell you what," Ron said pointedly, "I'll miss the house elves' cooking."

"And cleaning," Harry added.

Hermione wondered when they'd started listing things like that. Had they done it before and she hadn't noticed?

"What do you think our Defence against the Dark arts teacher will be like?" Harry asked.

"Judging from the previous instalments, I'd say out of his mind." Said Ron definitely.

"Or her mind." Hermione corrected.

"Sorry," Ron muttered.

"Do you think it'll be a woman?" Harry asked Hermione.

"I don't know," Hermione shrugged, "But we shouldn't ignore the fact that it _could_ be a woman."

"Ever the feminist crusader," Harry chuckled.

They chatted idly for some time, and then subsided into silence for a little while, engrossed in their own thoughts, until the woman with the food trolley rolled down to their compartment.

"Anything for you lot?" she asked in her normal friendly manner.

"Yes," Harry declared and turned back to them, "As it's our last year on the train to Hogwarts, I'm buying everyone lunch. I'll brook no refusal, so don't even bother," he said sternly, holding his hand up to Hermione and Ron's silent dissent. He literally bought a third of the trolley, much to the attendant's delight.

As they tucked into lunch, Ginny entered after spending some time with friends from her year who were further up the train. Hermione noted the shy smiled Harry exchanged with her and Ron's amusement at their tense adoration. It was this that triggered Hermione to stir the new couple.

"So Ginny, how were your holidays?" she asked with a wink.

"Okay," Ginny sad quietly, trying to hold back a blush, indicating to Hermione that her meaning was understood, though not acknowledged.

"Did Harry spend any time at the Burrow?" Hermione persisted with an innocent expression that fooled no one.

"Practically the whole holidays," Ron said just as pretend-innocently, stuffing a cauldron cake into his mouth, "But strangely enough, most of his time was spent in…someone else's room," he finished with a stare in his sister's direction.

"Really," said Hermione interestedly continuing their little façade, "fancy that!"

Ginny and Harry were now both matching shades of magenta, Harry's forehead slightly shiny with sweat.

"So Harry," Ron asked sarcastically, "did you enjoy your holidays?"

"Stop it both of you!" Ginny pleaded.

"Stop what?" Hermione and Ron said in unison.

"You know exactly what," Harry said diffidently, though just as red as before.

"Oh come on you two, we're just having fun." Ron laughed.

"I wasn't," Hermione said, her nose up in the air.

Hermione and Ron ceased their taunting and the conversation rumbled on as quickly as the train. They changed into their robes at about dusk, Hermione pinning her Head Girl badge carefully to chest. When they reconvened, the other three stared at her.

"You didn't tell us you were Head Girl!" Harry said indignantly.

"Oh, I thought I'd tell you now, but you were too quick."

"You sent us an owl; couldn't you have told us then?" Ron asked.

"I thought I'd tell you in person." Hermione argued. The truth was, she'd forgotten. There wasn't really anyone else to get it, she knew that, but she didn't dare say it. She'd assumed the boys would too.

"We should've guessed, Ron," Harry smiled, "Who else could they give it to? Pansy Parkinson?"

They all laughed and calmed down.

"So who's Head Boy?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Hermione mused, "Maybe Malfoy convinced bribed the governors into giving it to his precious heir."

At this Harry put his hand in his pocket and shyly withdrew the shining Head Boy badge.

"Hey!" Ron said angrily, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to tell you both together. Ginny knew."

"I'll bet she did!" Hermione winked, "I'm sure she came across it in you're pocket at some point in your...ahem, time together." That sent Harry and Ginny back into a fit of blushing, which made Ron laugh, and consequently Hermione laughed.

"Well, we all know now, so let's leave the Head Boy, Head Girl issue alone." Hermione said finally.

"Hey, we're here," Harry said as the train slowed down."

"Must be," Ron said, "Let's go then. For the very last time, Lady and Gentleman. Sorry Ginny, still got another year after this. Ha ha!"

"Leave her alone," Harry said defensively as they moved with the crowd towards the doors.

"Oh look, Ron," Hermione said dramatically, "the valiant knight is defending his damsel in distress! Oh, great sir knight, how truly noble you are!" 

Harry blushed to almost purple then and gave Hermione a shut-your-mouth look, while Ron was practically rolling with laughter.

They spilled out to Hogsmeade station and found themselves and empty horseless carriage.

"Last time boys," Hermione sighed, "We'll never do this again."

"Will you be quiet and enjoy the ride? Ginny whined, "If you're so upset about it, enjoy it while you've got it."

"Alright, alright, I'm enjoying it."

It wasn't long before they'd made their way to the castle, up the stairs and into the Great Hall, where Hermione was quick to notice that the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher was yet to arrive.

They sat down at Gryffindor table, saying hello to anyone they hadn't already seen.

"Look," Harry nodded his head toward the Staff table, "No Defence against the Dark Arts teacher."

"I saw," Hermione said as they all looked back in that direction.

"On Salazar Slytherin's bones, what has this school come to?" A drawling voice had snuck up behind them, "Look what we've got for Head Boy and Girl, a half-blood and a Mudblood. Even weasel here would've been better than you, Potter. He's at least got the blood of a real wizard."

Draco Malfoy, as usual accompanied by the ever-present Crabbe and Goyle (who had grown to look like half-trolls) were staring vindictively in their direction.

Hermione saw a vein begin to pulse in Ron's temple, and Harry was balling his fists.

She didn't want to see anyone with a black eye, so she pre-empted the violence with a war of words. Malfoy couldn't beat her at that game.

"Oh dear, Draco," Hermione said patronisingly, "Couldn't your father pay your way to the top? You must really be as bad as your marks say you are. But why didn't you just do something yourself? I'm sure sexual favours wouldn't have gone amiss with grumpy old men like the school governors."

Hermione wasn't sure who looked more shocked, Draco, Ron or Harry.

"You'll regret that, Mudblood!" Draco spat.

"I'm sure," said sharply, "Just like you probably regret having blonde hair when your head is so far up your backside."

Malfoy's eyes glinted dangerously, and his cronies bristled visibly. Hermione was sure they didn't understand what she had said, but were responding to Draco's reactions. Harry, however, spluttered in disbelief and Ron's jaw dropped down to somewhere near his toes.

"Bugger off Malfoy," Hermione said confidently, "you've got no business here."

Malfoy bared his teeth at her then swept away in a manner deeply reminiscent of his father. He had grown to look a lot like his father over the years, his jaw strengthening and his eyes growing more malevolent every day. Crabbe and Goyle tottered along after him like zombies on a lead, much the way their fathers did for Malfoy Senior.

Hermione took her seat, but the boys continued to gape at her.

"Hermione, that was _fantastic!" Ron whispered in amazement, sitting down beside her._

"Yeah," Harry said similarly on her other side, "I've never seen him look so…"

"furious?" Hermione prompted.

"Yeah."

By this time everyone was seated and Professor Dumbledore was already standing, waiting for silence. Eventually the conversation simmered down and he began.

"Good evening students, I think we should begin by allowing our new first years in to be sorted." He nodded to Professor McGonagall to open the door, and in streamed the next twenty Hogwarts students.

The sorting proceeded as usual, with the Sorting hat's brand new song, which was applauded and the sorting, which included one of Ron's relatives.

"That's Francis Dafferly," Ron whispered as a nervous looking boy with straw-coloured hair sat on the stool and pulled the Sorting hat on, "he's my cousin on my father's side."

"Hufflepuff!" shouted the Sorting Hat, which made Ron laugh

"Like his three brothers," Ron explained.

"You're also like your three brothers, what's the problem?" Hermione retorted.

"What's with the mouth today, Hermione?" Ron asked, slightly hurt.

The sorting finished and Dumbledore stood up once again to speak. He was smiling warmly and looked around him, exuding an aura of extreme happiness to see every person in the hall.

"Welcome, welcome everyone! I hope you're all ready for another year of learning, and I hope our students in their final year are prepared for the hard year ahead of them. Now, we do have a new addition to the Faculty, however she appears to have lost track of time. For this reason I shall introduce her to you tomorrow at dinner if you do not have a lesson with her before that.

"Now, I must remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is out-of-bounds to all students, and this years' addition to the prohibited items are Cassandra's cauldron bombs and quick-start people pokers. The full list of prohibited items can be checked in Mr Filch's office. Now, I believe we can begin dinner."

Dinner was marvellous as usual. The house elves had outdone themselves this year. There were huge bowls of peas and stacks of shepherd's pies, which were second in size only to the platters of chicken and beef that surrounded them. Somehow they managed to fit in the mouth-watering dessert as well, and were completely stuffed and sleepy by the end.

"There," Ron said lazily as he nodded toward the table, "I'll miss that."

They trotted off to Gryffindor tower and it took no time for Hermione to fall into a deep satisfied sleep.

Hermione was already eating breakfast when Ron and Harry dawdled into the Hall, bleary-eyed and sluggish. It appeared that Harry had spent a good part of the evening with Ginny, who came in some time after him. Hermione could only assume Ron had waited up for him. 

"Morning," she chirped happily as she chomped on a piece of toast, her finger still holding her place in the Daily Prophet.

Vague grumbling was the only reply as the boys slid into their seats.

"Wattawegotdismornin?" Ron asked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"It seems we've hit the jackpot. Double potions with the Slytherins." Hermione handed them their timetables. They groaned in unison and practically slid onto the floor in misery.

"Miss Granger, Mister Potter" Professor McGonagall called, "the Headmaster has requested that you see him in his office immediately."

They looked at her, puzzled with no idea what it was about, but they followed obediently. Ron stared after them, just as puzzled as they.

"Professor, what's this about?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Professor Dumbledore will explain you when you speak to him." She replied secretively.

Harry was silent, and Hermione decided to remain so too.

"Acid Pop!" McGonagall announced to the Gargoyle, and it leapt aside and allowed them to pass.

Professor Dumbledore was waiting at the top of the moving staircase.

"Hello, Hermione, Harry" Said Professor Dumbledore pleasantly, "I trust you are both well this morning."

"Fine," Harry replied on Hermione's behalf. She'd never been called to the Headmaster's office. She was far too taken with the array of books and exciting little contraptions littered through the room

"Hermione, would you mind waiting outside while I speak to Harry?"

"Not at all." She said, her eyes still scanning her surroundings as she stepped back onto the staircase.

When she reached the base, she waited patiently, wondering what this was about, and what Harry had been called for. She thought for a moment it was something about being Head Boy and Girl, but then it would've been a meeting together. Perhaps Harry was meeting about Quidditch…but then what was it for her?

It seemed only a few moments before Harry came back down the stairs looking weary. He smiled at her.

"What was that about?" she whispered, hoping Dumbledore couldn't hear.

"Oh, nothing, I'll explain later. D'you want me to wait?" He asked.

"No, Snape will give you detention, go," she advised.

He too, hurried away, and Hermione made her way up the stairs. She walked into the Headmaster's office, where Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, peering over his glasses.

"I suppose you're wondering why I called you up here." He smiled.

"To be perfectly honest, yes."

"Please, sit down."

Hermione took a seat before Dumbledore's desk as he took his behind it, steepling his fingers below his nose.

"It comes as no surprise to me, Hermione, that regular studies do not quench your thirst for knowledge, and never have. You are a very bright student, and obviously, this is one of the traits that contributed considerably to your election as Head Girl. I have struggled for some time to find something to satisfy you, and hopefully your extra credit assignments from your two previous years were something of a help. However, for this final year at Hogwarts I have managed to invite a…resident Mastermind, shall we say."

"A…Mastermind sir?" Hermione repeated, completely bewildered.

"Yes, she is, without a doubt, the most intelligent person in the country at this point in time. She lives in the Muggle world and visits wizarding world regularly, and she is head of neurology at Oxford University. I often consult her on magical theory, as her knowledge is unparalleled. You will not have come across her name in any books in the Hogwarts library because she invests a great deal of time and energy in concealing herself and her exploits in as many ways as she can manage. However, you may have seen her works in Muggle bookshops and libraries. Her theses are limited to university authorities and so on."

"Excuse me, Professor, but, if you don't mind me asking, what does it have to do with me?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly.

"My dear girl, you are half the reason I managed to hire her. I told her about you. About what you've done at the school…your academic record, your services to the school. She was very interested. She told me that she would come if she would be able to tutor you privately and if she was able to provide a few more pastimes for the other students. She thinks it's a terrible shame we don't put on a musical."

Hermione was digesting the information. _What on earth is he telling me this for?_

She shook her head confusedly, "alright."

"Perhaps you may recognise her name. Deborah Daniels?"

Hermione gasped.

"Deborah Daniels is going to be my tutor?" Hermione whispered incredulously.

Dumbledore chuckled.

"I assume then you have heard of her."

"Heard of her?" Hermione continued in her shocked whisper, "She's the foremost authority on Neurology and she's also a qualified Botanist, not to mention a Musician and Mathematician. She's a Genius."

"Don't say that to her," Dumbledore warned with a smile on his face, "She hates being called genius."

"Deborah Daniels is going to be my tutor." Hermione repeated, her eyes staring away blankly.

"And Defence against the Dark Arts Professor, and Head of Entertainment." Dumbledore added happily.

"Thankyou professor," Hermione said meaningfully, "I can't think of a better teacher to have here."

"Neither can I, Hermione. Now you'd better go to class, or Professor Snape will give you a detention."

Just as Hermione was lifting herself from her seat, something crashed through the glass dome above Dumbledore's desk and woman in a long leather black coat and strange ragged leather pants landed painfully in a hail of glass.  Hermione lept off her seat and ran some distance away, thinking it was someone who'd fallen out of a plane. Dumbledore chuckled and magicked the shards of glass away.

The woman stirred for a moment, then removed a pair of sunglasses that had been hiding her vivid blue eyes and smiled at Dumbledore.

"Am I Late?" The woman asked apologetically.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied, not particularly upset, "You were supposed to be here last night."

"My apologies…urgent surgery and all that." 

"May I ask what provoked the rather unorthodox entry ?" Dumbledore inquired politely.

"Decided to challenge myself, Albie," She said, repairing the damage done to the dome, "I put a hurling hex on my broomstick, wanted to see if I could get all the way here without falling off. Rather proud of myself, really. I made it all the way here and the damn thing didn't even buck me off." She turned to look at Hermione with interest. "This must be Hermione Granger. A pleasure to meet you, Hermione, I'm Deborah Daniels." Deborah extended her hand.

Hermione had made that conclusion herself, but she was in shock, barely ably to shake the hand put forward. She had expected someone quite a bit older, not to mention the fact that it was Deborah Daniels.

"Wow…" That was all Hermione could say.

"I'm going to take it as a given that your everyday vocabulary extends somewhat farther than 'wow.'" Deborah was smiling. It was the kind of remark that came from Snape, but not with the same sarcastic, caustic, nasty bite. Hermione gathered her mind together and began to speak.

"Sorry, it's just such an honour to meet you. I read your article in the Medical Observer about the effects of endorphins on the synaptic cleft after brain damage. And I've read about your research into nerve repair by therapeutic cloning. It's just amazing! I can't tell you, I mean, it's just such a privilege for me. I'm really looking forward to this year now…"

By this time she was rambling.

"Calm down, Hermione," Deborah advised with a chuckle, "you'll hyperventilate."

"Deborah, Hermione really must go to class." Dumbledore urged.

"Yes, I suppose she must. It's still a school then, isn't it? Pity, that. Well, then, off you go Hermione, we'll see you in class this afternoon."

Hermione rushed out, blushing. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, she chastised herself. She had gone to pieces in front of the smartest witch and wizard in the world. Albus Dumbledore and Deborah Daniels! In all her life she'd never been more embarrassed. _

On the bright side, Hogwarts now had a monopoly on authority and intelligence: Albus Dumbledore, one of the wisest and most powerful and wizards in the world. Filius Flitwick, inventor of the 'memoria ostentare' charm, which replayed the memories of the subject to the charmer. Severus Snape, expert potions brewer and nationally internationally renowned inventor of the brainwave potion. Minerva McGonagall, editor of quarterly periodical 'Transfiguration Today.' And the most recent addition, Deborah Daniels, Muggle and witch genius, whether she liked being called that or not. It was surprising that she was the only one who realised how very influential Hogwarts teachers were outside the walls of the school. Nobody else seemed to know or care. To everyone else, teachers were teachers, nothing more. It's really quite a shame, Hermione thought, that wizards don't even care about what is going on around them. That's how they get drawn into problems with characters like Voldemort. No one watches the signs. 

Voldemort had not yet been defeated, but Peter Pettigrew had been caught the previous year, as he was trying to kidnap Harry on a Hogsmeade visit. Pettigrew had not counted on the presence of Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, who were present simply by coincidence…and a lucky one at that. Sirius had been exonerated and, as a gesture of good will, was given Order of Merlin, third class. Remus Lupin had also been given the same honour, and everyone at the ceremony was reminded that Dumbledore already had Order of Merlin First class, so there wasn't much else they could give him but a round of applause, which everyone did loudly and appreciatively.

Pettigrew was questioned thoroughly with the aid of veritaserum and then handed over to the Dementors, much to Harry's displeasure, as he wanted to 'kill the smarmy grovelling git with his own bare hands' if Hermione remembered correctly. Nevertheless, he now sat in Azkaban, far beyond recovery.

Hermione had reached the Dungeons before she had known what she was doing. Luckily, it was just then that Snape swooped in and began his class, unaware that Hermione had only just sat down.

"Silence!" He growled, exuding that powerful aura of I-hate-you-all that was characteristically Snape. "Today you will be preparing a translator potion. This potion is used to translate any text into the natural language of the brewer. It is applied to the text with a brush and within thirty seconds the text has been translated to the brewer's native language. There are only three ways in which I have seen this potion ruined in the history of all my teaching, and no doubt Mr Longbottom will demonstrate all three of these and probably find another one to boot. Begin!"

Neville cowered behind his workbench, apparently too scared to even begin. Snape was not in a good mood. He wasn't even in his normal foul mood. He was even worse. He had started insulting Neville even before they had begun work. Must have fallen out of bed this morning, Hermione thought.

"You foolish boy!" Snape was now looming over Neville. He looked almost ready to beat the living daylights out of the trembling wreck. "Get on with your work! It really isn't difficult, not even for that excuse of a brain that is hibernating in your head. Or perhaps," he said with a sneer, "Miss Granger could brew it for you?"

Oh no, she thought bitterly, don't you dare drag me into this. She clenched her teeth, bowed her head and focused on crushing her Blackberries and Cactus needles into a thin paste, her credo of standing up for herself forgotten in the face of Snape's intense cruelty. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Harry and Ron had visibly tensed, also responding to Snape's barrage of insults.

And so went Potions class. Neville did indeed make the three mistakes Snape had foretold, and another one to boot.

"Don't worry, Neville," Harry said bracingly, "If he hadn't been breathing down your neck the entire time you probably would've been fine."

Neville was still holding a cloth soaked in Marcus Meller's All-Purpose De-Sweller to his bright red and blown-up face. A large bubble had risen up and flecked his defective potion into his nose.

"One of these days I'm gonna walk right up to that mongrel and wring his neck out with my bare hands, I will." Ron was seething at Snape as he usually did after Potions.

"Come on, everyone, Defence against the Dark Arts now." Hermione tried to turn their attention elsewhere. "We have a new Professor…Professor Daniels."

"I wonder if she knows how to get rid of evil Potions Professors." Harry mused.

"Professor Snape isn't evil," Hermione reasoned, "He's just…well, he's a bastard."

Harry, Ron and Neville all froze.

"Harry did Hermione just call a teacher a…a _bastard?" Ron asked dazedly._

"I…I think she did," Harry replied in the same tone of amazement.

"Come one then," she prompted them, "We don't want to be late."

"Correction," said Ron, "_You don't want to be late."_


	2. The Puppeteer

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to she who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling. All thanks to her and my computer.

Chapter 2 – The Puppeteer

It was Defence against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins again, though Hermione couldn't imagine they would be favoured as much as in Potions. It was the lesson before lunch, and everyone was chatting nonchalantly, waiting for the new teacher. After ten minutes, in came Professor Daniels carrying a black leather bag to match the rest of her outfit. She whistled a tune which Hermione identified as Monty Python's Lumberjack song, and smiled to herself, remembering the words of the song, an unbidden picture of Nearly Headless Nick floating into her mind.

"Good morning everyone. My name is Professor Daniels." It had no effect on anyone. That didn't phase her, as she continued with a pause. "I mainly spend my time in the Muggle world as a lecturer and in my personal time I contribute to the wizarding world in various ways. But I am not here to talk about me…I'm here to teach you Defence against the Dark Arts. Now, something that I find quite appalling is that they teach you how to defend yourself against the Dark, but not why it is Dark. They don't teach you about where the line is between Light and Dark. So you're all basically shooting in the dark at the Dark. So this will be the first thing I teach you. Or try to teach you. What is the difference between Dark and Light? Anyone?"

For the first time in her entire school career, Hermione had not been prepared for the question. She couldn't answer. Obviously there was a difference, but she didn't know what it was. It hadn't been in her textbook. She looked around her, not surprised that nobody had their hand up. 

Professor Daniels sighed. "Oh dear, I suppose I'll be starting from the beginning. Very well, can anyone tell me what darkness itself is when we speak of it in terms of light and darkness?"

Hermione was ready for that. Her hand sprang up which earned her a collective groan from the class.

"Hermione?" Professor Daniels asked.

"The absence of everything."

"Exactly," Professor Daniels smiled, "five points to Gryffindor. Darkness can also be called an intangible vacuum in this case, because it quite literally is nothing and sucks away at everything else intangible. This is what happens to a Wizard who goes 'to the Dark Side' so to speak. The darkness lodges in him and it sucks away at the light and everything else. Innocent things like emotion, conscience, temper…all the things that traditionally define a human being. His instincts return to their base state…a very carnal state. He sees only strength, and thus he sees only power, and desires it all. So, then, what is light when we speak of it in these terms?"

Hermione's hand shot up again.

"Hermione?"

"The absolute presence." Hermione answered confidently. "Where there is an abundance of the intangible."

"Right again," Professor Daniels laughed, "another five for Gryffindor-"

The Slytherins groaned in unison.

"Don't groan," Professor Daniels censured, "if you had put your hand up and answered you'd have received the points. But you're all too lazy to open a book of your own prerogative. Now, Light is indeed the over-excess of intangible matter travelling at an incredible rate. Hence it is constantly releasing intangible matter into the environment. Now, this is peaking of it in very physical terms, when in fact we must now convert this to a magical concept. So, darkness is the absence of force and craves the presence of it, and light is the constant radiation of magical force because of abundance, or perhaps we can think of it as a nuclear explosion of magical force. But it's not the kind of thing that exists independently. Both light and dark need a particular environment to thrive, that environment being a body. In most people, there is something like an equal amount of light and dark, meaning that the forces are balance; ergo you have a balanced individual. However, there are cases in which the light or dark has a far greater presence, and very rarely one finds an individual with only one…light or dark. I've never seen it.

"What about Voldemort?" Hermione blurted out.

Professor Daniels smiled quickly and replied, "Voldemort is indeed one of those wizards, and I've never had the misfortune of running into him. Hence I've never seen it.

"What about Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked curiously, "Is he all good?"

"Simply reasoning indicates that he is not. Albus Dumbledore's main objection to using the great power that is within him stems from his fear that the Darkness within him will take over. In previous dialogues with him he has told me that he is quite aware that, should he be pushed far enough, he will turn to the dark. Therefore we know that he is not all good, but nevertheless a great deal more good than evil."

Most of the class was flabbergasted. They just gaped at Professor Daniels, mouth hanging open in shock, her words flying straight over their heads.

"Is this going to be on our final exam?" Seamus asked shakily, completely confused by the concept.

"Er…dunno, yet," Professor Daniels shrugged, "Haven't written it yet, have I? Look, don't worry; I don't really expect you to understand that, but I was hoping. It's a concept that…well, it's not simple is it? I tell you what, I won't put it on the exam. I don't even know why I started with it. I suppose I think it's important, but it's not really my decision. Alright, let's use those books you paid so much money for. Open to…page eight, Destructive Body Curses."

The class continued rather uneventfully, unless one counted Malfoy's constant insolence. Professor Daniels seemed to tolerate it rather well. She barely gave him a second glance. Hermione looked around at everyone's faces, and it appeared that most people were coping better with the concept of a curse than with the essence of Dark and Light.

Everyone was packing their books away when Professor Daniels looked up from her desk.

"Hermione, detention!" she called sharply.

That caught the attention of the whole class. Hermione _never_ got detention.

"What? Why?" Hermione asked, part confusion, part indignation.

"I'm just kidding, wanted to see your reaction," She said smiling, "please see me after class."

Hermione shook her head as the rest of the class left and made her way to the teacher's desk.

"Sorry for the shock, what can I say? I'm a bit twisted." 

"That's alright." Hermione answered quietly. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, we have to set a time for your extra classes. I think Tuesday nights is best. Not the first day of the week, but still early enough for you to still be awake. Shall we say eight o' clock in my office?"

"Okay," Hermione agreed.

"Excellent. Now, I'm going to get some lunch before my stomach caves in."

"Professor?" Hermione began.

"Yep-o?"

"Why have you never fought against Voldemort?" she asked timidly.

"I was too scared at first, but now the battle calls for different tactics, of which I am a part of with Professor Dumbledore." Professor Daniels spoke calmly as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "But I'll tell you this, on the day that Voldemort is killed I will be present and he'll regret overlooking me. Let's walk." They began the walk to the Great hall, not at a great speed, but above normal walking pace.

"Does Voldemort know who you are?" Hermione persisted.

"No, thank Merlin, he doesn't. If he did, I'd definitely be dead. I took the necessary precautions, such as staging my abandonment of the wizarding world under my original name and returning under a false name, you know, the whole nine yards."

"But why did you go to all that trouble? What's the point?"

"I'll explain tomorrow night. I'm not keen to talk about it in the open like this."

Hermione wasn't happy, but settled for asking her next line of questions.

"Okay. Will we be covering things like what you started with today in class?"

"Probably not in normal classes," Professor Daniels sighed, "It doesn't seem like your classmates have such a firm grasp on the basic principles of the interaction between the Dark and Light forces, does it? And they'll never need to know it, so I won't teach it. we don't really have time for things you don't need. But if you want we can discuss it as a part of your private tutoring."

Hermione leapt at the chance. It was exactly that kind of thing that interested her most. After all, if you don't know the basics you can't really understand the details. She said as much to Professor Daniels. She laughed quietly and said, "You know you reminded me of myself when you said that."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. That was the best compliment she had ever been given, even though it wasn't meant as one. Deborah Daniels had just said she was similar to her in her youth.

"What?" Professor Daniels asked in concern.

"Nothing, nothing," Hermione covered up quickly and caught up. Professor Daniels lifted one eyebrow in curiosity, but continued walking.

The next day time passed very slowly for Hermione. Class was…educating, but she was looking forward to her private tutoring with Professor Daniels. She took notes diligently and behaved very normally to the best of her ability, but inside she could hardly contain her excitement.

The last lesson of the day was Potions. It was a very hot day, so being in the dank but cool dungeons was not as bad as it might have been on another day. But Professor Snape was as vicious as ever. He took ten points from Gryffindor because Neville coughed. Every other male Gryffindor made to stand up to argue but he silenced them with a ferocious glare.

"Miss Granger, please see me when the class is dismissed." Snape demanded impassively.

Oh dear. Never a good sign, Hermione thought.

She stayed in her seat as Ron and Harry left the dungeons.

"Meet you in the common room. Good luck," Harry muttered.

"Yeah, hope he doesn't eat you," Ron added quietly, not sounding the least bit like he was joking.

Hermione sat for a moment, waiting for Professor Snape to say something. At first he simply sat at his desk, writing something down. It seemed an age had passed before he put his quill down and fixed her with a look of what appeared to be sheer hatred. Suddenly it struck Hermione that perhaps everyone was reading his signals wrong because he didn't express them properly. Then she reminded herself of why Gryffindor had just lost ten points.

"Miss Granger, I have been told Professor Dumbledore has arranged for you to start private tutoring with our new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. Have I been informed correctly?"

"Yes, sir." Hermione replied meekly.

"Tell me, girl, do you have any idea of the capabilities of Professor Daniels?"

"What exactly are you referring to, Professor?" Hermione asked, very innocently. Passive aggression is a wonderful tool.

"Are you aware that Professor Daniels is one of, if not, the brightest witch of our time, above and beyond even Professor Dumbledore in her knowledge of magical theory and far more talented than Madame Pomfrey in her healing skills?" His tone was audibly irritated.

"Yes, sir." Hermione said simply. "I know that Professor Daniels is an internationally respected Neurosurgeon and Neurologist and that she is a Musician, Mathematician, and, if I recall correctly, botanical skills to rival yours on a good day. If that is what you are referring to, then yes, I am aware."

"Then you are aware that you are the only student in the world who will be taught privately by one of the greatest magical and medical minds in the world. You should have the decency to be deeply respectful toward her." His face was hard, and his eyes were fiery. Hermione, however, was not deterred today. She snapped back in a tone to match his.

"I am aware, Professor, that every day that I spend here at Hogwarts I am taught by great authorities in most subjects, not the least of which is you." She was pleased to see him flinch. Throwing him off balance was deeply satisfying "In fact, I'm probably one of the only students at this school who is aware of just how well-respected the teachers here are. So, naturally, I am absolutely delighted at my extra tuition. I don't need enlightening, sir."

At that, Snape's eyes flared.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your impertinence!" he shouted, "Get out of my sight!"

She picked up her books and stormed out with an intensity to match.

Snape watched her flounce out of the room…well, she hadn't really flounced, but he preferred thinking of her as a temperamental adolescent as opposed to a young woman of unwavering conviction. It used to be her tittering on about anything she could that really peeved him. But now it was how bloody headstrong she was. If she was in, she was in. if she was against you, she was against you. If she had convinced herself of something, there was no swaying her. It was so…'Gryffindor' was the only word for it. He wanted to wring her neck out sometimes.

Hermione had known who Deborah was. Thank Merlin for that. He would've walked straight into the Headmaster's office if she hadn't. Surely the best test for deciding whether she was worthy of Deborah's attention was her previous knowledge of the woman. Damn it, she knew! Not only had he lost a bet, it meant that silly child would be poking her nose into what could possibly be the saviour of the wizarding world.

A knock at the door cracked his reverie. He waved his hand and the door swung open.

"You owe me two galleons my good man, she knows who I am." In came Deborah, already ready to collect her winnings.

"You don't waste time, do you?" He growled while standing up to pull out the two galleons he was keeping in his pocket just in case.

"Tempus fugit, Severus, carpe the diem." She smiled at him, her hand extended in waiting.

He slammed the money down on his desk.

"One of these days I'll prove you wrong about something." He snarled.

Deborah sighed sarcastically in response.

"When will everybody learn that I'm always right? You just won't catch me out."

She shook her head, and then snapped her head up.

"Severus, do you want your money back?" she asked eagerly.

"That depends on the terms and conditions of the return." He replied.

"I'll give you your money back right now if you agree to do one thing for me."

"And what is this thing?" He asked cautiously.

"Well, it wouldn't be any fun if I told you now would it?" she retorted, "come on, just say yes. I promise you'll enjoy it."

"No, keep the money;" he said firmly, "I don't want any part in your sycophantic escapades."

"They're not sycophantic," she said mildly, "they're eccentric. And by the end of it you'll be glad I made you do it."

"That makes me want to do it less, Deborah. Absolutely not." He said, crossing his arms resolutely. "I've learned my lesson, thankyou."

She laughed wickedly.

"I'll bet you've been learning it every day in the shower since then. Alright, I'll make another bet with you." She offered, "First house to get to forty points out of Gryffindor and Slytherin. But, to make it fair, we'll switch it round. If Gryffindor wins, you get your two galleons back and another two of mine. If Slytherin wins, no money and you'll have to do my one little thing. Are you game?" Her hand was out, waiting to be shaken.

Snape eyed her cautiously, wondering if there was any way to avoid her bet. Somewhere in the back of his mind his conscience was nagging at him, telling him he owed it to her. His intelligence, however, told him he didn't want to bet her because he would most likely lose, and her 'little thing' would no doubt be far bigger than she made it out to be. But today it was his conscience that won the battle.

"Alright devil woman,' he muttered, as he warily shook her hand, "I'll play double or nothing with you."

"Fantastic," she exclaimed, eyes shimmering, "shall we proceed to din-dins?"

Hermione walked quickly up to the Gryffindor tower and met the boys who were poring over Harry's model Quidditch set, trying to formulate new tactics. She threw her books down angrily and flung herself into a chair.

"What did he want?" Harry asked, still looking at the model.

"To lecture me about how honoured I should be to be having private lessons with Professor Daniels," she sneered, "Honestly! Isn't it enough that he berates us in his own lessons? Now he wants to tell me how to behave for another teacher! That's just ridiculous."

"Hold on a sec," said Ron, "you're having private lessons with Professor Daniels? What for?"

"Oh," she shrugged, "Professor Dumbledore said it's to keep me occupied, further my studies. It's not for any particular subject, but just for fun, really."

"For fun?" Ron repeated, "Are you off your rocker?"

"Just because I like learning doesn't mean I'm crazy Ron."

"I wonder why it matters to Professor Snape." Harry mused quietly, "He's never cared about the other Professors, especially not Defence against the Dark Arts. Why now?"

"You two don't know who Professor Daniels is, do you?" Hermione sighed.

"Are we supposed to?" Harry said curiously.

"Well, maybe you've heard of her Harry, but I don't expect Ron to know. Professor Daniels normally lives in the Muggle world. She's a world recognised Neurosurgeon."

"That still doesn't explain why Professor Snape cares so much." Harry argued.

Hermione clicked her tongue pensively.

"There's something he knows that we don't." Hermione concluded.

"Yes," agreed Ron, "he knows what'll be on the Potions exam."

"Maybe she's an Auror," Harry suggested, "like an undercover Auror. Maybe she knows how to destroy Voldemort."

Ron jumped slightly in his seat.

"_Don't say the name!_" he hissed.

"We're certainly missing something." Hermione said, shaking her head resignedly. "I'll ask her tonight in the lesson."

"You're having a lesson tonight?" Harry asked.

"Yes, we arranged it for every Tuesday at eight o' clock. Which reminds me, Harry what did you talk about with Dumbledore?"

"Oh, I'm going to be having private lessons with him." Harry mumbled uncomfortablly.

"What for?" Hermione asked.

"So I'll know how to kill Voldemort."


	3. In for a Penny

Author's note: Before anyone reads this, I'd like to thank those people that reviewed, much appreciated and very encouraging. If anyone has anything to say, I'm always delighted to hear anything. Even flames.

S.J.W – My Pen name is a combination of Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde. Very sorry about grammatical errors, I don't always catch them but I try to avoid them.

Starlight – yes, our dear potions master is thoroughly pissed for exactly that reason…and I believe in this chapter the reasoning behind this is revealed…if you can call it reasoning.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to she who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling. All thanks to her and my computer.

Chapter 3 – In for a Penny…

At dinner Professor Dumbledore officially introduced Professor Daniels to the students who hadn't already had a lesson with her during the day. He made no mention of her previous career or achievements, which didn't seem to bother Professor Daniels in the slightest.

Hermione was also careful to watch Professor Snape's expression toward Professor Daniels. It seemed he was trying not to make eye contact with the woman herself, and wasn't showing any of the usually air of hatred or jealousy. Strangely enough, he looked acceptant. Harry and Hermione discussed this and agreed that all it did was confirm the fact that they were missing something.

Dumbledore continued his speech and mentioned Professor Daniels other responsibilities.

"I have also allowed Professor Daniels to take the new post as Head of Entertainment and Arts at Hogwarts." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with childish delight. "And it is for this reason that this year we will be having a school musical." 

The hall erupted into whispers and giggles. Harry and Ron gawped at each other for a moment then began discussing Ron's latent musical tendencies. Hermione chuckled and looked toward the Staff table, where Dumbledore was looking to Daniels, who raised her glass to him with a wink. Snape however, was looking somewhere between mutinous and horrified, as if Dumbledore had said no teacher could take points off Gryffindor ever again.

Dumbledore turned back to the students, signalling to end their chatter.

"Now, this means there will be auditions for any person who wishes to have a performing role in the musical. There are also administrative roles for students above third year and backstage roles such as set design, costume design and so on. Students wishing to have these roles should speak to Professor Daniels personally. Professor Daniels will be directing and auditioning for parts, and these auditions will take place on this coming Saturday. A list will be put up on the school noticeboard for audition times during that day. Any student wishing to audition should write their name beside the time they would like.

"Other than that, I believe the only thing left to be done is eat dinner."

Dinner proceeded as usual, along with the excited babbling about which musical they would be performing and who would get the main roles. Suddenly Quidditch was of little importance. Who could sing and dance was far more important. Hermione however, was not particularly concerned with the musical. She had a reasonable voice, but she had no training, her parents had never bothered with it. She had learned violin for a little while, but she broke the poor instrument while trying to get a Lego piece out of the body. Her parents hadn't replaced it.

She focused her attention to the lesson she was about to have with, she said it to herself once again, Deborah Daniels. She looked up to the Staff table at Professor Daniels' seat, but she was gone. Hermione looked at her watch. Already quarter to eight! Damn, she thought, Professor Daniels had probably left for her office. She wolfed down the rest of her dinner and ran back to Gryffindor tower to collect some books. 

By the time Hermione reached Professor Daniels' office, it was five to eight. She stood for perhaps fifteen seconds before Professor Daniels rounded the corner.

"We're early" Professor Daniels said warmly, "aren't we eager?"

Hermione blushed slightly and looked down at her shoes. With a little bit of maturity she had also grown a sort of self-consciousness over her enthusiasm.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I was talking about both of us." Professor Daniels opened her office door and gestured to Hermione to enter.

The first thing that hit Hermione when she entered was books. Floor to ceiling shelves of books, not to mention stacks at practically every wall reaching about chin height. There was also one wall dedicated to paper. Stuck up on a pin board, there were what appeared to be hundreds of pages with symbols and text and pictures all over them. Hermione stared around herself in awe.

"I know, it's only my second day here and I've already made a librarians nightmare." Professor Daniels said almost apologetically as she waved to a seat for Hermione.

"It's fantastic," Hermione whispered in wonder, dawdling across the room.

Professor Daniels chortled as she pointed her wand at the fireplace and a roaring fire exploded into it.

"Well, it suits me," she shrugged as she slid into her seat behind her desk. "Anyway, you don't have to worry about bringing books here, and I won't even hear of giving you homework. Whatever we discuss and whatever you learn here should stay in your mind without a book, otherwise your brain has used it's own mechanism to blank out what it considers unimportant information. I don't even really want you to think of it as a lesson. It'll be…discussion mostly. Perhaps I'll explain things to you, but I'm confident that you'll remember it without the aid of a writing implement. And you don't have to call me Professor here. Most people, except your dear Potions Master, call me Deb. He insists on the whole 'Deborah' as a matter of principle, so that I won't call him 'Sev.'"

"Oh, that reminds me, why doesn't Professor Snape hate you the way he hated all the other Defence against the Dark Arts teachers?"

Professor Daniels grinned for a moment, and then put her feet up on the desk.

"Well, let's have a look at the track record, shall we? Professor Snape is of a rather jealous nature to begin with. Doesn't like people touching his things. He sees this position as his, in a way. So, your first year here you had who?"

"Professor Quirrell."

"Oh yes, the s-s-stutterer that was sharing his body with Voldemort-"

"You said the name!" Hermione whispered.

"Of course I did. The name isn't going to hurt me, especially since it's not really his name. Anyway, Snape probably could feel Voldemort nearby; his Dark Mark probably was a little darker. He also knew Quirrell before the crossing with Voldemort, as did I. didn't come across as one able to withstand much pressure. He just picked what no one could see and kept as quiet as he could because he had no proof and Professor Dumbledore was probably restraining him. Next?"

"Professor Lockhart."

"I hardly need explain that one to you, Next?"

"Professor Lupin."

"Old grudges die as hard as habits. Imagine losing Crookshanks to Draco Malfoy. You'd be annoyed too. Next?"

"Professor Moody. But Snape was more frightened."

"This is understandable. The Auror that questioned him on the night of his return to the Light side. Next?"

"Professor Figg."

"Much the same as losing it to Lupin. An old school grudge. Next?"

"Professor Oryx."

"Snape just thought he was incompetent, I imagine, and thus resented him. And the latest on the list is me. Now he doesn't hate me, and he won't contest my ability to teach this subject because he knows I know about it and he knows while I'm around and Voldemort's still nancying about killing people, he won't get the job."

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

"Because Dumbledore doesn't think it's a good idea for an ex-Death Eater to teach Defence against the Dark Arts until Voldemort is out of the picture. It comes across as very inappropriate, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose, yes, it's not exactly the epitome of good ethics is it?"

"No, and besides, I've known him since his Death Eater days. But he was softening by the time I met him"

"How did you know him?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Oh it's a grim story, and the answer to your question from yesterday." Professor Daniels sighed. "He came with Lucius Malfoy and those two…what are their names? Lobster and Doily? Anyway, I was seventeen when they came to torture and kill my family, which they did. My parents were Aurors, very good ones too, and so out they went before my eyes. I was in the attic when they came in, so they didn't see me, and I don't think they were looking for me either. But I saw Lucius kill my parents and my thirteen year old brother."

"So that's why you left and wouldn't come back," Hermione concluded.

"Indeed," Professor Daniels nodded, "But that wasn't the end of it. They were also looking for a potions recipe that my family has had for centuries. A healing potion that is irreversible. That is to say, you drink it and you live a healthy person for one hundred and twenty years."

"There's a potion like that?"

"Yes, but it was a family secret. I don't know how they found out about it. Anyway, Severus came looking for it in the attic. I was so scared I forgot to hide, so I was face to face with him before I knew it. He asked for it I gave it to him because I was so scared he'd kill me. He left with it, but he said he'd be back. I can only assume he went out, told the others he had it and to report back to Voldemort and he'd be there soon. He came back, told me he was sorry for killing my parents and that he'd never kill anyone ever again. I told him he hadn't killed anyone, that it was the other masked dude. I told him to go back before they suspected anything, and he said he wanted to repay me for my family. And I told him not to be daft because you can't replace a family. But at some point in the future I'd think of something."

"And did you?" Hermione asked shakily.

"Yes," Professor Daniels laughed, "I decided to hide in the Muggle world, and he paid my university fees."

"Pardon?"

"Well, my parents would've been the ones to do it, so I told him he could do it. In fact, he paid whatever was left after my scholarship, bed and board, and anything else. I lived off him for those years. It was wonderful. Of course I didn't mind, and neither did he. His family has a lot of money, and he's the only child and inheritor, so he did it without blinking, bless him. So now, even if I couldn't earn my own money, I'd have my family's money to support me."

"How can you look at him now?" Hermione asked seriously, "How can you not want to throw him in Azkaban?"

"Because I'm not really in any position to judge him, am I?" Professor Daniels sighed and smiled a weary smile. "I can blame him for someone else's actions as much as I can blame the furniture in the house…and myself. We were all present, watching my family die, but no one stopped it. In truth I may well have stolen his money from him, as I am just as responsible for their death as he is. But he wanted to repent; it made him feel better, so I thought I could at least give him that much relief. He wasn't much older than I was, perhaps a few years."

"Does that mean you went to Hogwarts with him?"

"I would have had I been in the country. Actually I went to school in America, because I was born in Australia and there are no magic schools there. We'd just moved to England because my parents were asked to help with the Voldemort situation."

"How did you cope with your family's death?" it was beginning to sound like an interview.

"You don't want to know that." Professor Daniels said firmly.

"Why not?" Hermione retorted.

"Because then you'll be forced to pity me, and I've had plenty of time to grieve and get over it, so I don't need pity, hence you would waste your energy by pitying me."

"If I promise I won't pity you?" Hermione suggested.

"You can't promise that, really. Alright, fine." Professor Daniels removed her coat to be left in a singlet, and it was immediately clear. Tattoos were trailing up both her arms, splitting at her shoulders to snake up either side of her neck and reach out toward each other on her chest. They were deep black, obviously magically enhanced.

"Oh my!" Hermione said in shock.

"Of course, originally it didn't occur to me to make it decorative. To start with I just cut myself. And because I didn't want people to know, I tattooed over them. Then I realised the pain of the tattooing was just as releasing. So I had them done, and done and done, until I realised I wasn't achieving anything by doing this to myself. And then I cried and cried and cried, and that was it. Of course, that took about a year, so I'm left with a year's worth of tattoos and scars."

"Can't you just magick them away if you don't like them?"

"Of course, but I do like them. That's why I magicked them darker. Anyway, as educational as my life story is, I think we should focus on something slightly more current. That is, unless you have any questions."

"Yes-"

"I should have guessed," Professor Daniels said nodding her head, "Yes?"

"Does Professor Snape know about these?"

"Indeed he does. In fact, he once lost a bet to me, so now he has my surname tattooed on his backside. And before you ask, no he can't magick it away because I put a charm on it that makes it stay for fifty years."

"You're joking!" Hermione said in amazement.

"You and he wish. No, I'm sure it's still there, clear as day. But I don't think he'd show you if you asked."

"I don't want to see." Hermione replied, somewhere between shock and disgust.

Professor Daniels laughed, "It's not that bad really, because it's quite small. But it means that he'll always remember that he's not always right."

"It doesn't seem to help during classes." Hermione said bitterly.

"That's because he's very careful not to think about it during class. If you hinted that you knew, he'd either kill you or his jaw would hit the floor, in which case he'd come right up here and kill me. Or quite possibly all three. But please, for both our sakes, don't mention it. At least, not until I say you can."

"I wasn't planning to." Hermione said earnestly, "actually, I was planning to blot it out of my memory until he decides to be very cruel to me. If he does something like what he pulled today-"

"What did he pull today, pray tell?" Professor Daniels asked.

"He started lecturing me about how I should be honoured and thankful that I'm having lessons with you." Hermione stood up and started pacing angrily. "For Circe's sakes, I'm not bloody stupid! He doesn't have to tell me who you are."

"How was he supposed to know that?" Professor Daniels asked calmly.

"He knows what I'm like. And besides, it doesn't matter, it's not his business. It's not his class so he shouldn't stick his big nose into it!"

"Like I said, Hermione, he's very protective of things he sees to be his. He sees me as something that he is sort of responsible for. He wants me to…you know, be happy, because of previous events. And he wants me to receive what he thinks is my due respect because Lucius Malfoy showed me so little of it. So, in his eyes it is his business, and his duty to ensure my continued comfort and pleasure. I'm yet to convince him that he's being ridiculous, no matter what I say, no matter what I tattoo on his arse. He just won't listen."

Hermione sat down, still slightly annoyed, but also far more understanding.

"He punishes himself quite a bit, doesn't he?" Hermione reflected.

"Well, we all punish ourselves in different ways," Professor Daniels replied, flourishing one arm, "But hopefully he will stop when this Voldemort business is all over. I just worry that he'll be left with nothing at the end."

"How do you mean?"

"Never mind," Professor Daniels said as she put her coat back on, "now let's get down to business."

They spent the evening discussing whether there is another dimension in which magic functions. They hadn't come to a conclusion, but Professor Daniels had stopped the discussion at eleven o' clock, insisting that Hermione needed to sleep more than she needed to argue. Hermione didn't agree, but obeyed all the same. Professor Daniels also told her to audition for the Musical. Hermione didn't know whether she wanted to or not, but agreed anyway.

She thought about their discussion in bed that night. She also thought about Professor Daniels as a seventeen year old, no older than herself. Hermione imagined what she'd do if her parents were killed by Voldemort or Lucius Malfoy. She couldn't imagine herself taking a blade to her own body or getting tattoos, but then she didn't think Professor Daniels would've imagined it either. She fell asleep musing and began to dream.

She dreamt of slightly younger versions of Crabbe, Goyle, Lucius Malfoy and Professor Snape, going to Deborah Daniels' house. A younger Deborah watching them from the trapdoor to her attic. The green flashes of light as her Mother, Father and Brother fell to the ground, lifeless, terror still imprinted on their faces.

Then, completely unbidden, came a picture of Deb's last name tattooed on a pale surface of skin. There was no doubting where this skin was located or who it belonged to, but Hermione smiled and shuddered in her sleep, subconsciously grateful that no one was watching. 

When Severus Snape went to breakfast on Friday morning, he cringed to see Slytherin was holding first place at thirty-five points, whereas Gryffindor was sitting on twenty-five. It was the first time in his life that he was upset about Slytherin winning. That woman was the essence of cunning…she should've been in Slytherin.

He saw her sitting at the staff table, grinning intensely at him, ready to inflict herself upon him. He steeled himself and strode to his seat beside her.

"Good morning Professor Higgins!" she said in a scarily passionate tone that carried along the entire staff table.

He knew what she meant the instant it flew out of her mouth. Dumbledore obviously knew too, as his eyes twinkled knowingly and cheekily. Snape kept his head down, looking at his plate.

"No," he said slowly and sourly, "Absolutely not."

"Ah, my dear man, you have no choice. You lost the bet and now you pay the price."

"I don't care. Think of something else," he muttered as he spooned porridge onto his plate, "I won't do _that."_

"_That_ is your only choice. Do it or I'll play the dead family card."

He clicked his tongue and breathed deeply, trying not to let her get to him.

"I don't care which cards you play…the answer is no."

Deborah leaned in close, so no one could hear her.

"You watched my parents die, Severus," she purred, "the least you can do is follow through on your promises. We shook on it…and besides, you've done more humiliating things."

She sat moved back to normal posture and winked at him.

"You'll have to be at the auditions tomorrow, so we can choose your co-star."

He could see she was enjoying every minute of this.

"You gave Slytherin the extra points didn't you?"

"Hell, yes," She said with a smile, "and now I'm off to be a teacher. Have a nice day, Professor Higgins, I'm sure the students will treat you as well as ever."

And off she went, a spring in her step, no doubt heightened by her latest success over him.

It would be the students, however, who would suffer the consequences. He knew Deborah knew that, but he also knew she was of the opinion that his harshness on them was a lesson to be learned. He believed it too, but maintained that it was more that he hated Gryffindors rather than that he wanted to prepare them for real life and let the Slytherins rot.

He swept out of the Great Hall feeling very peeved indeed, to put it mildly. He wanted to wring her neck out, and hang her out to dry, but he would never do it, not even under threat of crucio. The Granger girl was in more danger of death right now. But the little voice in his head had something to say about that too.

_No, she's not Severus. You're never going to lay a hand on another person again. Not out of anger or love._

He squashed the voice and his thoughts as he stormed into his classroom to the great shock and dismay of his new first-years.


	4. Only a little bit twisted

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.

Author's note: Alright everyone, I just want you to know that I may not be able to post chapter 5 for some time because I must be a good student and do my work, of which there are no small amounts. The past three chapters were written before I decided to post the story, so I could post them at will. But now I won't be writing far ahead of what you're reading. I'd also like to apologise in advance for grammatical errors. I am terribly sorry if it offends you as it does me, but I am sincerely strapped for time. 

And for those of you who think Deb is too perfect, I think my comment on that will be "Just you wait!"

Also…

Goddessnmb1 – no, I won't answer your questions because that just ruins my fun now, doesn't it? ;) But I think after this chapter your questions will be answered anyway. I haven't read Pawn to Queen, though I keep seeing it pop up in all kinds of places. I planned to but it's damn long and I don't have much time so I will read it, but not just yet.

And, as always, love to hear from everyone who has something to say, and any questions will be answered…unless they ruin my fun. Tee Hee J

So… now onto the story…

**Chapter 4 – Only a Little Bit Twisted**

That evening he found the largest bottle of whiskey he had, sat in one of his armchairs before the fire and began dousing his insides with the stuff. He was trying to shut out the fact that the very next day he would have to…_do that_. He was going to have to exact revenge on Deborah for this somehow.

He was about half-way through the bottle when there was a knock at the door.

Professor Dumbledore walked in smiling, obviously pleased at the outcome of the bet. He didn't try and tell himself that Dumbledore didn't know. Dumbledore knew, as with everything else.

"How can she do this to me?" Snape asked Dumbledore angrily, "after all I've done for her, how can she?"

"You agreed to it, Severus," Dumbledore said simply as he settled himself in the other armchair, "You are equally to blame for this."

"Oh how I hate that history repeats itself." Snape snarled.

"There aren't many others who like it either, but we must deal with it. And after all, you might just enjoy it. Open your mind, live a little."

"I don't want to." He snapped, "Can't everyone just leave me to self-destruct in peace?"

"Severus, she doesn't want you to destroy yourself. She wants you to be happy, just the way you want her to be happy. It's what we call friendship."

"How can she call me her friend after what I did?" He asked in amazement.

"You didn't do anything she didn't do, Severus, you both watched her family die."

"But I could've stopped it." He covered his face with his hands.

Dumbledore sighed.

"No, you couldn't have. We go through this whenever you see her. No one could've stopped Lucius Malfoy at that point. He probably would've killed you too."

"Then I should've died."

"No, you shouldn't have. Look around you, Severus, Deborah is alright. She survived. You cannot continue blaming yourself for this."

"Why not?" He said childishly.

"Because I don't want to have to come down here every evening and convince you that you're supposed to live. Trust her, Severus, she's doing what she thinks is best for you."

"How does she know what's best for me?"

"That's what friends are for, to know what's good for you when you can't see yourself. Now put that bottle of whiskey down and have a cup of tea with me."

The Headmaster waved his hand and a pot of steaming tea appeared on the table between them. He had also magicked the whiskey away to Snape's great annoyance.

"I was drinking that!" he exclaimed.

"No you weren't," Dumbledore said lightly, "you'd finished."

Snape grumbled and took his tea.

"Don't worry, Severus," Dumbledore assured him over his cup of tea, "You'll thank her at the end of it."

"She's said it, you've said it, and I don't believe either one of you."

There was another knock at the door and it opened without being asked to. In strode the devil woman herself.

"Ah look, it's a tea party," she said, "pity I brought the wrong drink," she added, brandishing a bottle of whiskey.

"That's alright," Snape said holding his arm out for it, "We'll forgive you this time."

She held the bottle back.

"It's not for now smarty-pants." She said sternly, "If Albie has magicked your bottle into my room it means you're not to have any. Tomorrow morning you can have some. I've charmed it so it won't open til then."

"Tea, Deborah?" Dumbledore offered politely.

"Why thankyou Albie," Deborah accepted.

"Please Deborah, I beg you to reconsider. There must be something-"

"My mind is made up, Severus, I'm resolute. Now, while you're both here, I think we should discuss something."

"What would you like to discuss?" Dumbledore asked, handing her the tea.

"I think I know how to destroy Voldemort." She said seriously as she sat down on the floor.

"I thought you might," Dumbledore nodded, "something to do with that family recipe, no doubt."

"Indeed," she agreed, "and I believe through some trial and error we should be able to brew a potion that will return him to a mortal state. In order to do that smarty-pants Potions Master over here will have to lend me his extensive knowledge of the properties of magical plants."

"What do you plan to do?" Snape asked, now focused on the issue at hand.

"I have a theory that all plants in the world have a natural complement. That is to say, if one plant has healing properties, the complementary plant will have poisonous properties of equal potency. I would like to be able to test the theory, but I really do need you Severus, because you know more about it than I do. I know the muggle science of it, not the magical art of it. So, if we can map out which plants complement which, we should be able to brew a potion that will counter the effects of the potion that Voldemort imbibed to make him immortal."

"That is no small feat, Deborah," Dumbledore warned, "It will be a lot of hard work…for both of you."

"Yes, but it seems to be our only hope." She reasoned, "We simply cannot rely on the chance that Voldemort has some of Harry's mortality running through his veins. We must do everything we can to rid the world of the little bitter boy who lost his mind."

"How do we test the potion, Deborah?" Snape asked.

"Well, do you remember the adjustments you made to my potion to make it an immortality potion?"

"Of course," Snape replied bitterly.

"Then we brew that potion and feed it to a test subject. We'll have to use animals, rats most likely, their genetic make-up is similar to humans. Then, when we have what we believe is the complementary potion, we feed that to them, then cast Avada Kedavra on them and hope and pray they die."

"I won't cast that curse, Deborah," Snape shook his head.

"I'm not asking you to," she retorted. "I'll cast it. You focus on the potions. And, if you don't mind too much, I think we should enlist the help of our Head Girl."

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you Deborah," Snape said muttered, "You won't rest until I am in my grave, will you?"

"Severus, I think we should be reasonable here," Deborah argued, "The girl is smart, diligent and a hell of a thinker. I was explaining the magical dimension to her and she got it in a snap, no re-explaining, nothing. It went straight in. Two heads are better than one, Smarty-pants, and three's better than two."

"Two's company, three's a crowd," He rejoined angrily.

"We could go back and forth like this forever." Deborah sighed, "Face facts, Severus, we need her. So play nice with her."

"I agree, Severus," Dumbledore interjected suddenly, "she is exceptional, despite the fact that she is Gryffindor and still a student. Her mind is keen enough to rival Deborah's. But perhaps if you need another pair of hands, I could-"

"No Albie," Deborah cut in, "You stick to training Harry to harness Voldemort's power. We've got to have all bases covered. We can handle this…as long as Severus agrees to Hermione."

"Alright," Snape acquiesced, "I'll let her help if you promise you'll never play the dead family card again."

"Never again. Upon my family's three graves," she swore with a hand over her heart a grin on her face.

"Your sense of humour will be your end, Deborah," Snape murmured.

"Well, at least I'll have the last laugh then, won't I?"

Hermione woke to thumping on her door. She had her own room, as did Harry and all other prefects.

"Who is it?" she called sleepily, her eyes still shut in the hope that she could keep them that way.

"It's us, Hermione," said Harry's voice, "Harry and Ron! Get out of bed, your audition's in less than an hour!"

She snapped her eyes open. And sat bolt upright.

"An hour?"

"Not even!" Harry replied. "Get ready!"

"Oh, alright, I'll be out soon!"

She scrambled out of bed and looked at her watch. Nine forty-five. That left her with three quarters of an hour. She had specifically put down for the first audition of the day so it would be over with, but now she wasn't sure it was a good choice. She had a quick shower, and got dressed as quickly as possible, barely looking at what she was putting on. Luckily she had chosen a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and, thank Merlin, not another pair of pyjamas. Out of habit she attempted to tame her hair, but gave up two precious minutes later. She put on a bit of make-up. Not much, but enough to cover the bags she had permanently packed and ready to go under her eyes.

By the time she walked out of her room it was ten past ten.

"About bloody time," Ron scolded as they continued out through the common room towards the Great Hall.

"Hey," she said defensively, "twenty-five minutes is better than most females could do."

"Alright," Harry interrupted, "we've got about fifteen minutes to eat breakfast." They had reached the hall and in the proceeded to guzzle down food.

"I'm not having much," said Hermione, picking up a piece of toast and a glass of water, "But some Vladimir's Vintage Vodka wouldn't go astray."

"What's gotten into you, Hermione?" Ron asked, "First you abuse Malfoy, then you call Snape a bastard, then you ask for alcohol. Are you sick?"

"No," Hermione said curtly, "as a matter of fact, Ron, alcohol numbs the vocal chords."

"Whatever you say," He shrugged.

They downed their breakfast as quickly as they could and dashed away to the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom, where Deb was holding the auditions. There were a few other people standing outside, singing to themselves or pointing their wands at their throats, trying to enhance their ability. Hermione convinced herself out of that by listing all the possible consequences of doing those charms wrong. Broken spine, vanished vocal chords, vanished windpipe, voice pitch jumping octaves and so on.

"We should do that, Harry," Ron muttered.

"Don't even think about it," Hermione glared at them, "a million things could go wrong, and all for the sake of a musical. Have you ever heard of natural ability?"

"Yes, but I don't have it." Ron argued.

"Nonsense, Ron, you'll be fine."

Ron shook his head sombrely and sat slid down to sit against the wall.

"Hermione Granger!" Deb was calling out from within the classroom.

She took a deep breath and looked at the boys.

"Good Luck," they said in unison.

"Thanks," she said and strode into the room.

The first thing she noticed was that Professor Daniels was not the only one in the room. Sitting on her right was…

"Professor Snape!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

He sneered back at her, "Professor Daniels has requested that I be present for all female auditions."

"What? Why?" Hermione asked, looking at Professor Daniels in disbelief.

"Yes," Snape growled at Professor Daniels, "Tell her why I'm here."

"Because," she answered calmly to Hermione, "Professor Snape will be playing the lead role. And if we're going to cast his co-star, he ought to be here."

"You lost a bet, didn't you, Professor?" Hermione asked before she knew it had come out of her mouth.

"For Circe's sake, Deborah, what have you told this girl?" He said irately.

"Enough," Deborah answered simply, "Now, before you begin your audition Hermione, I must tell you that if you have no intention of remaining in this musical, please do not audition. I will not allow any person with a main role to walk out, though I strongly suggest you stay."

Hermione considered this. She wasn't really sure. Professor Daniels had told her to audition and here she was. But was she willing to go through with it? Well, there wasn't much chance of her getting a main role, and she certainly wasn't going to be Eliza, so what harm could it do to commit?

"I'll stay," Hermione decided.

"Good. Now let's hear you sing, Hermione. Something simple. Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, Happy Birthday, whatever you want."

Hermione considered it. she had no idea. It was the simple decisions like these that confused her the most. Her nerves were throbbing, adrenaline was pumping hard.

"Shall I choose for you?" Deborah asked.  
"Yes please," Hermione said thankfully.

"Alright, Happy Birthday. When you're ready." 

Hermione tried to tame her panicky body. She shut her eyes, swallowed hard and sang.

It was over very quickly. She sang with her eyes closed, not wanting to see Professor Daniels' expression. However, when she had finished she opened them and Professor Daniels was smiling much as she had been when Hermione had entered. Snape, however, was looking down at his fingernails. Hermione didn't know what to make of that.

"Thankyou," She said warmly, "Now, please take this scroll and look over the lines. In a minute we'll have Professor Snape read you through them."

As Hermione took the scroll, she glanced at Professor Snape. He was giving Professor Daniels a look that would've made most people run for their lives. She, however, didn't turn a hair.

Hermione look down at the lines. She recognised them, but it was a while before she realised where they were from.

"Oh, my" she whispered in shock, "This is My Fair Lady!"

"Indeed it is, Hermione," Professor Daniels confirmed, "And this," she said gesturing toward Professor Snape, "Is Professor Henry Higgins."

"You've got to be joking." Hermione snorted.

"She is, Miss Granger," Snape spat, "But this is her idea of a joke. Forcing me to play this role."

Hermione began to laugh. Then she couldn't stop laughing. She had tears in her eyes before she was able to calm herself.

"Oh, that is _hilarious_!" She sighed, wiping tears from her eyes, "This'll be great!"

"I know," Professor Daniels agreed, with a glint in her eye.

"But," Hermione asked, "How does he know what My Fair Lady is? It was a muggle play and movie, and I don't know any wizards who go to the movies."

 "Well, now you know two," Professor Daniels smiled, "Muggles do weave magic on the silver screen. Alright Professor Higgins, stand up and strut your stuff. He won't admit to this," she said to Hermione, "But he's a trained actor."

Professor Snape glared at her, and she grinned happily back at him. He walked around to stand opposite Hermione, giving her a look of loathing that he usually reserved for such persons as Harry, Sirius and Remus, but now Hermione knew what it was like to have his eyes boring through her own that way…unimaginably disconcerting.

"Alright you two, action!"

"Wait," Hermione said, "Shall I do the accent?"

"Of course," Professor Daniels nodded, "ready now?"

"Yes," Hermione said shakily.

"You too?" she asked Snape.

"I couldn't be more or less prepared."

"Alright…action!"

Snape began it, already in character, which prompted Hermione. She had seen Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison do it; all she had to do was remember that.

"Again, Eliza," his voice was stern, but not as harsh as in normal classes. He flourished, miming Professor Higgins playing the xylophone and saying, "How kind of you to let me come."

"How kind of you to let me come," Hermione mimicked with a very false and very ugly cockney accent. 

"No, no. 'Kind of you', 'kind of you', 'kind—', 'how kind of you to let me come'."

He was good at it, Hermione thought. He must have seen Rex Harrison do that part as well.

"How kind of you to let me come," Hermione repeated, almost exactly the same as before.

"No, no, no, no." Snape said irritably, moving closer to her, an invisible cup of tea in his hand. He was getting into it, "'Kind of you', 'kind of you'. Say, 'cup of tea'; 'kind of you'. Say, 'cup of tea'."

"Cup o' tea," Hermione said sadly, looking longingly at his hands.

"Alright very good, Hermione," Professor Daniels stopped them, "now let's move a little further in the script, down…all the way to where Eliza says 'Your slippers', having just talked about not selling herself and so on, found it?"

Hermione twisted the scroll a great deal and found the line, and Snape had done so before she looked up.

"Would you like to look over the lines, Hermione?" Professor Daniels asked.

"No, I know this script like the back of my hand."

"Good!" she said approvingly, "Alright, Action!"

"Your slippers," Hermione said, this time in a clear-ringing upper class accent.

"Oh, yes, of course," Snape said soberly as he bent down to pick up nothing, "You shied them at me."

"Before you go sir—"

"eh?"

"Do my clothes belong to me or Colonel Pickering?" Hermione could feel Eliza coming out.

"What the Devil use would they be to Pickering?" She could feel Henry Higgins coming out in Snape too, "Why would you bother about that in the middle of the night?" his voice was tired an irritated. By sound he was very clearly Professor Higgins.

"I want to know what I may take away with me. I don't want to be accused of stealing."

"Stealing! You shouldn't have said that, Eliza; that shows a want of feeling."

"I'm sorry. I'm only a common ignorant girl; and in my station I have to be careful. There can't be any feelings between the likes of you and the likes of me. Please will you tell me what belongs to me and what doesn't?"

"Take the whole damned houseful if you want. Except the jewelry; that's hired."

Hermione and Snape had now completely disappeared, and Henry and Eliza had blazed through.

"Stop, please," She pretended to remove a necklace, "Will you take these to your room and keep them safe? I don't want to run the risk of them being missed."

"Hand them over," He snarled angrily, his hand out towards her.

Hermione put an empty hand to his and felt what a shock go through her.

"If these belonged to me and not the jeweler, I'd ram them down your ungrateful throat." He sounded like a little schoolboy. Hermione could hardly believe, it, but she concentrated and mimed taking off a ring.

"The ring isn't the jeweler's: it's the one you bought me in Brighton. I don't want it now."

She put her hand once again to Snape's and felt again the static shock. He consequently mimed throwing the ring into the fireplace.

"Don't you hit me," she said, the cockney accent hinted at.

"Hit you! You infamous creature, how dare you suggest such a thing? It is you who have hit me. You have wounded me to the heart."

The heat was rising in the argument, as if they were truly having it out with one another.

"I'm glad! I've got a little bit of my own back, anyhow."

"You have caused me to lose my temper: a thing that has hardly ever happened to me before. I don't wish to discuss it further tonight. I am going to bed." Snape turned his back to her.

"You'd better leave your own note for Mrs. Pearce about the coffee; for it won't be done by me!" Hermione responded by turning her back to him.

"Very good," Professor Daniels nodded, a playful glint in her eye, "Alright, thank you Hermione, I hope to have the parts up by Monday. Could you call Harry in?"

"Of course," Hermione had now turned around and was staring at Professor Snape in amazement, and he in turn, was staring back. For what seemed an eternity, she looked into his eyes and saw…something, though she wasn't entirely sure what.

"Oh, by the way, Hermione," Professor Daniels interjected quietly, "Professor Snape and I would like to ask you to help us with a potion we will be brewing. It could very well dictate the fate of the world."

Hermione remembered herself only in time to hear the words stop, oblivious to the gravity of them.

"Er, sorry, I didn't catch that," she said, looking away from him, blushing slightly.

He too looked away and cleared his throat.

Professor Daniels looked from Snape to Hermione and back to Snape again, an impish grin creeping over her mouth.

"Professor Snape and I would like to ask you to help us with a potion we will be brewing that could very well affect the fate of the world. Would you agree to help us?"

"Of course!" Hermione said enthusiastically, looking back at Professor Snape, "Thankyou!"

"Thankyou," Professor Snape murmured, almost bowing to her. 

How had she never noticed how soft and… mellifluous Professor Snape's voice was? A squeak escaped Hermione's lips before she ran out of the room, absolutely sure that she was as red as a tomato.

She shut the door behind her and ran with her head low, so as not to show the color in her face.

"How was it? Harry called after her.

"Er, okay," she said shakily over her shoulder, "see you in the common room."

Harry and Ron looked at each other meaningfully, but were immediately ambushed by Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who were gossiping about who would get good parts.

Snape watched her rush out of the room, completely thrown by what had just happened. He had felt that shock go through his hand when she touched him…could still feel it even now. Why had he ever thought of her as a child?

He thought of the look in her eye. Completely pure, unlike anything he'd ever seen in any other eye before.

"See, I told you you'd enjoy it," Deborah grinned.

Snape suddenly remembered himself and put on his most malicious and vicious expression he knew.

"I forbid you to make her Eliza!" he snarled.

"Well that's alright" Deborah said mildly, "Because I've already made her Eliza."

Snape stared at her in horrified shock.

"You haven't…" he whispered ferociously.

"I have," Deborah replied softly, "you can tell her if you see her. But this means you are also excused from further auditions. Enjoy your day, Henry," she said cheerfully, "and on your way out could you ask Mister Potter to come in? I believe it may have slipped Hermione's mind as she seemed to be in…such a rush to leave."

He glowered at her once more and then swept out of the room, stopping to snarl at Potter.

"Well, it's your turn with that lunatic now," he barked, "In you go," he demanded, a long finger pointing to the doorway.

The boy scowled at him and moped into the room. Let the boy be upset, Deborah would find some way to lift his spirits, he thought as he marched angrily down to his office.

Once inside, he cast all the wards he could think of and poured himself a searing hot bath. As soon as it was full and steaming, he sank himself into it, using the burning to counter his anger.

Deborah was screwing him over, and enjoying every minute of it. He didn't care what Dumbledore said about friends and all that…whether or not it was out of the goodness of her heart, Deborah was twisting him around her little finger.

Why, out of all the students, why a Gryffindor know-it-all like Granger? Deborah was punishing him. He knew it.

But he couldn't convince himself he didn't deserve it. He did, he deserved it, but sometimes his dignity would stand up and argue in his defense. Deborah's family was dead because he couldn't stand up to a simple-minded man like Lucius Malfoy. He deserved to suffer for his weakness.

_But will you suffer forever?_

The little voice in his head pleaded with him to think of the good he'd done and what good could come. Voldemort's defeat and the Death Eaters' incarceration…Deborah getting justice and…

The image of those pure, innocent brown eyes staring at him, gazing at him…

He threw his head under the water, trying to wash that image away. Only it didn't wash. He was quite sure those eyes would gaze at him forever.

When the water cooled to a normal temperature he levered himself out, toweled himself down and dressed again. As he walked into his office he heard a timid knock at his door.

"Enter," he snapped.

"Sorry to disturb you Professor, but I was wondering about the potion Professor Daniels was talking about."

Her voice froze him on the spot and melted his heart. He wanted to bang his head against the wall and knock some sense into himself, but there were more urgent matters to attend to.

"What would you like to know, Miss Granger," he asked slowly, wrestling the mask of disdain over his emotions.

"What exactly is it you plan to do?" she asked shyly.

"I must admit, Professor Daniels would be a better advisor for this, as it is her idea. But from what I understand she has formulated a theory that all plants have a complementary plant, that is to say a partnering plant with opposing characteristics. For example, one plant may have healing properties, so its complement will be poisonous to a similar degree." He eyed her cautiously. "Has Professor Daniels told you anything about her past?" He asked tentatively.

"I know Lucius Malfoy killed her parents and I know you took her family's healing potion and modified it to make a potion that would ensure Voldemort's immortality, if that's what you're referring to."

He was slightly taken aback. He wasn't sure he really wanted her to know those things, but it was too late now.

"I see Professor Daniels wasted no time with you," was his only comment on the subject before he answered her question. "Now, Professor Daniels hopes to find the complementary plants of those I used in Voldemort's potion and created an un-immortalizing potion, if you will."

"But how would we get Voldemort to drink it?"

He didn't want to answer the question. The cruel reality of it was something he preferred to leave to the last minute for realization. But she was waiting for an answer, and lying would do no good, as he would have to tell her at some point during the process of creating the potion. Better sooner than later.

 "_I_ would have to lace his drink, now wouldn't I?" he growled.

"How would you do that?" Hermione asked.

"Surely it comes as no shock to you that I have been working as a spy these past two years?" He snapped at her, "Surely you were aware that our information on Voldemort's attacks does not come from Professor Trelawney or some other fraudulent source?"

"Of course I'd made the conclusion that you were spying, but I wasn't going to waltz in here and pretend that I knew for sure now, was I? I imagine it's not the kind of thing you want the rest of the world to know about. And it's for that reason I don't bandy it about under your nose like a first-year clown!"

She was angry. He'd never seen her get angry, though he could hardly blame her. He often wondered why people didn't get angry at him more often.  He knew how fierce his countenance was, but he didn't really know the extent of it's effect. Apparently today it was not affecting her.

Part of him wanted to applaud her bravery in standing up to him for the first time in seven years. He squashed it.

"Well then surely it's clear to you that I will attend a Dark revel and mix the potion into the Dark Lord's drink, providing alcohol has no effect on it."

"You could get killed." It was a statement of fact, no emotion. It made him wonder again what he'd earlier seen in her eyes. He dragged himself back into the conversation

"I'm afraid that is the nature of the beast, _Miss Granger,_" he sneered her name as if it were an insult, "whenever I attend these events I am in danger of being killed. In fact, every moment that I continue living I am in danger of being killed. It is a harsh reality but I have learned that I inevitably get what I deserve."

"I don't doubt that, but I don't think you deserve to be killed." Again, it was simply factual.

"Oh really?" he retorted, "You don't think a former Death Eater responsible for the Dark Lord's constant resurrection from oblivion, not to mention being present at countless murders and tortures, deserves a long and painful death?"

"No."

"Of course, being the flaming Gryffindor that you are, you don't believe anyone deserves to die, do you?"

"I don't really know," she said defensively, "I'm not often faced with a situation in which I have to decide who lives and who dies. But I _do know I don't think _you_ deserve to die."_

"Why are you still here, girl?" he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Has your question not been answered? Attack Professor Daniels now, I'm in no mood to squabble with you at the moment."

"Why not?" Why did she sound angry? She had come here of her own will knowing full well what he was like? Why was she upset? Did she expect him to throw rose petals down for her?

"Must you know the answer to _every_ question?" the desire to throttle her was returning…quickly.

"Yes, mustn't you?" she seemed to be giving him a look of equal annoyance.

"Why do you stand up to me, girl?" he asked cagily, folding his arms carefully at his chest, "You never used to be outspoken like this. You used to only answer questions, you never asked them…and you certainly didn't answer back to teachers."

"I had a revelation over the holidays," she said, not a speck of determination leaving her face.

"Indeed, and what was that?"

"That people who stay silent under persecution get crushed. I will not allow myself to fall into that…not even at the most minor level."

For a moment he paused…then he chuckled softly, moving towards his seat behind his desk.

"Persecution," he murmured, "sit down, Miss Granger." He commanded quietly as he lowered himself into his chair.

She marched proudly towards the seat holding that determination firm in her eye. She sat down, slinging a bag full of books to the floor.

"Do you believe I am persecuting you and your fellow housemates?" he asked gently. It obviously shocked her, because her mask of fortitude slipped a little before she pulled it back up and answered.

"I would say you practice a lesser form of persecution, a very twisted form of it that obviously satisfies you a great deal, but there are worse things you could do."

He leaned in towards her, his arms resting on the desk.

"Has it ever occurred to you to consider this situation from my position? Has it ever occurred to you that I am forced to be head of a house brimming with the children of the very people we are trying to bring to justice? And these children, being their parents' offspring, have a great desire to see themselves lifted above the common folk and praised for no particular reason except that they have what they consider to be purer blood? And that, should I fail to please them, their immediate reaction is to tell their seniors, who all rush to clog up my fireplace telling me that I'm not a true Slytherin? And, should I be so unfortunate as to displease Mr Malfoy junior, Mr Malfoy senior will undoubtedly find some horrifying way to 'convince' me to be more lenient on Slytherins. Parents though they may be, they are also killers, rapists, thieves, tyrants, hearts blackened by years of misguided education. They have learned and known for so long that they are of the highest ranking, and Muggles and Mudbloods are dirt beneath their feet that ought to be eradicated. Not to mention the fact that a large number of them, despite their prim and proper appearance, have reverted to their most base and carnal instinct. Their high society is matched only by their vicious bloodlust. Is it not clear that I am locked into a state of affairs that will only be resolved by some very drastic changes that will only come to fruition with a lot of time and effort, both of which we are currently expending towards this cause? Is it not clear to you that what you call persecution is a mere trifle in the face of what goes on in the wings of it?"

He realized only when he'd finished that he may have shared a tad too much. She looked…embarrassed to say the least. Her willful mask had fallen right off and shattered on the ground. She looked down at her toes.

"I'm...I'm, very sorry," she began uncomfortably, as she hurriedly got to her feet, "I mean, I-I didn't know…I'll never bother you again…" she picked up her bag and promptly dropped in sheer nervousness.

"Miss Granger," he said gently, moving around the desk as she picked her bag up and dropped it once more, "Please, Miss Granger…sit down." She was still looking down, refusing to make eye contact. He tentatively put a hand to her shoulder, and that did it. She snapped her head up in shock, first regarding him, then his hand, then him again. He snatched back his hand as if she'd burned him, feeling now that he had invaded her space.

"I didn't mean to bother you…" she sounded on the verge of tears.

"Neither did I, so we're both at fault." He winced slightly…a recurring theme in his life.

She sat down bashfully, and he remained leaning against his desk beside her.

For a moment he had nothing to say, and there was an awkward pause in which they both considered one another, though never actually looked in the other's direction. He was the one to find words.

"Professor Daniels has cast you," he said simply.

"Really?" she looked up at him, "Already?"

"Yes."

A brief pause, in which she waited for him to tell her and he waited to be asked.

"Aren't you going to tell me who she cast me as?" Hermione demanded, slightly bewildered by his silence.

"Aren't you going to ask?" He countered, a mischievous smile crawling over his mouth.

"Who did she cast me as?"

He sighed, looked up at the ceiling and told her.

"She did not!" Hermione said, goggle-eyed.

"She did."

"Can I quit?"

"No. if you'll cast your mind back to earlier this morning, you'll remember Professor Daniels expressly explaining that she wouldn't allow any main role actors to quit."

"Oh that's not fair!" Hermione whinged, "I thought I'd get a little part that I'd be able to ignore. Oh I won't be able to cope, Professor, I'm going to fail my NEWTS." Did she just complain to a teacher about workloads? What on earth?

"Miss Granger, you wouldn't fail your NEWTS if your memory was obliviated." Did he just say that? Did those words just come out of his mouth? Did he just _compliment a Gryffindor? Why was he being nice?_

He looked at her, hoping that it had gone unnoticed, though sure it had not. She was shocked and…Damn it, pleased.

"What I meant to say was…"

"I know what you meant to say," She cut him off, "I heard what you meant to say and I'll never forget it." A smile was now spanning the width of her face. "Thankyou."

He grumbled something under his breath and sat back down in his chair.

He turned the conversation away from his blunder to another shared blunder.

"You realize, of course, that we have now become puppets for Professor Daniels?" He said matter-of-factly.

"Yes."

"You realize that now you will be spending a great deal of time in both mine and Professor Daniels Company."

"Yes."

"Does that concern you?"

"No."

"You are very brave. I would be very afraid."

"Why?"

"Because Professor Daniels and I aren't the most…well-adjusted of people. If I were you I'd consider my sanity in great danger."

"Oh, and what makes you think my sanity is still in tact, or ever was in tact?"

"I was being polite. Are you familiar with the practice?"

"Vaguely."

"I never imagined, Miss Granger, that you would admit to being ignorant. I shall have to mark it down in my diary as a festive day."

"You do that, and I'll mark this day down as the day you complimented me."

He rolled his eyes disdainfully. "I liked you more when you didn't say this much, and I didn't like you then."

Hermione was relieved that he wasn't taking house points away from her for being pretentious. She wouldn't really have blamed him, but she would've hated him nonetheless. But his…lack of complete vindictiveness threw her somewhat. She wasn't prepared for this. She assumed it had something to do with the fact that they would have to tolerate each other for some time now.

She crossed her arms and he drummed his fingers on the desk, trying not to notice the awkward silences filtering their way into the conversation. Eventually he thought of something to say, but he didn't quite know how to put the issue forward.

"It seems," he began uncomfortably "Well, our characters, you know we…become very…"

"Yes," she spared him the agony, thank heaven, "It just occurred to me."

"I wonder how the student body will handle the…concept." He was staring as his fingers, pretending to examine them. Apparently a habit of his.

"I don't really know," Hermione replied, also looking down, though at her feet. "But perhaps we should practice our lines in private."

"That was the blatantly obvious first step, Miss Granger, but the fact is we will eventually have to rehearse ensemble, full cast and crew. And afterwards we will have to perform this masterpiece of Deborah's to an audience of parents and peers. I believe it qualifies as social suicide for both of us."

"I've committed social suicide before, and I daresay you have too," He grunted at that, "So I'm not particularly worried. But we can't really blame anyone but ourselves," Hermione shrugged, "We said yes."

"But Deborah put us in this position. Without her interference I would have been drinking criminal amounts of alcohol in peace, but now she's swapped my whole stockpile for tea."

"I can't blame her for that."

"Why not?"

"She loves you."

"Excuse me?"

"Excuse you what?"

"What do you mean she loves me?"

"I mean you're the only connection she has to her family. There's nothing for her to remember them by but you. Isn't that obvious?"

He stared at her, completely flabbergasted. It had never ever crossed his mind. But now it seemed so obvious. Before it had seemed like some cruel joke…a constant reminder that he was responsible. But now…

"Come on, professor, she pushes you around, she manipulates you into doing things you don't want to do…doesn't that remind you somewhat of the behavior of a relative? And above and beyond that, you have her name branded into your buttock. She has her name written on you. Don't you understand that she doesn't want to lose you?"

For a moment he simply considered these new discoveries. How had he been so thick? All these years it hadn't occurred to him that Deborah was having as much trouble as he was. She was protecting him as much as he was protecting her. He felt as though he'd been bound, weighted and thrown into the ocean. This changed _everything._

He suddenly remembered Hermione was still in the room.

"Miss Granger, I think you ought to leave now." 

He stood up to escort her out, using motion to hide his sudden confusion. However, she didn't stand up.

"You didn't realize, did you?"

"Miss Granger, you are no longer welcome in my office. Please _leave." He pointed one long finger toward the door, and she stood up, but made no move toward the door._

"You thought it was all a punishment," she said leaning in on his desk, "you thought she was getting you back."

He was close enough to head-butt her now, and had to fight the urge off. Who did this adolescent _child_ think she was? Telling him about his life as if she'd seen it all. Explaining the logic of the most complex relationship he'd ever had, which was saying something, considering the slippery company he kept.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he snarled, leaning in on his side of his desk, "now get out before I throw you out."

"I'll leave," she murmured, returning his steely gaze uncannily, "But it won't change the truth. Just because I'm the one who said it doesn't make it a lie…or even an insult."

He was so ready to slap the insolent thing when she strode out of her own accord. He sat down again. Damn! He was just itching to knock some sense into her.

But her exit also hailed the return of her words. Her _true words…She was so right…It made him sick to think she'd one-upped him…But it was true…She was absolutely, undeniably, unbearably right and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to change that._

And what of Deborah? Deborah who only moments ago had been Professor Deborah Daniels, Miss Practically-perfect-in-every-way Daniels? This fine upstanding woman who, yes, had grieved very deeply for her family, but had come out a shining example of strength. What was she now? Some part of her had apparently never grown up. The loss of her family had apparently been irrevocably damaging to her, so much so that it was irrepressible. And now she was left clinging to the only thing she had…and that was him. Severus Snape. Obsessive, anal, misogynistic, depressive and all-round bastard that he was, it simply wasn't enough to keep her away. Some insects cannot be deterred from excrement.

Somewhere in him something had understood that. His consciousness hadn't the faintest clue about it, but he'd known. Somewhere in the whole of him, part of him knew.

And in a way this answered his big question. Why did he put up with her crap all these years? Why did he stand for the lost bets, the manipulation, the sheer agony of her company? Well, of course the conscious reasoning behind it was that he owed her the world and more, so he would bear it…perhaps he would not grin, as he rarely did that anyway, but he would bear it. But the truth was she would have nothing left if he gave up on her. That infallible brain would self-destruct if he forsook her.

He wanted to hate Deborah for it. How could she make him take that place in her life? She knew him…she knew that life was a burden he'd rather not shoulder. Now he was forced to shoulder it for her sake. That wasn't fair! He should have the right to escape reality permanently if the desire took him. But she'd vetoed that right by burdening him with her sanity. That lazy little child! Why couldn't she shoulder her own bloody burdens?

Of course she wasn't able to, and nor should she have had to. She was a child then, perhaps a little older than a child, but it's amazing how far one regresses in the face of grief. He couldn't blame her for the way things had turned out, just as…just as…

He barely wanted to believe it. The pain of it was pleasurable. But he could blame her for engineering his situation as much as she could blame him for engineering her situation.

Which brought them back to square one. Equally to blame, but blameless all the same.

Damn Deborah Daniels, Damn Hermione Granger and Damn you, Severus Snape.


	5. Setting Affairs in Order

Author's note: Okay, REALLY sorry, personal crisis meant I had to put this on hold. I'm biting my nails down to nothing though, if that's any consolation to anyone.

This chapter's quite short, it's just a bit of a preparatory chapter, so that we can really get into it, but enjoy.

Also, for those of you who don't like SS/HG, I'm not sure whether it's going to be that or not, I'll just see where it goes. I'm sorry if it doesn't take your fancy either way, but I assert my right as the author of this story to decide the path it takes…or to allow the characters to decide…you get the point.

As always, love to hear from everyone, and for those of you who've made it this far, if you have a private message for me, my email address is jane_wilde@hotmail.com.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.

**Chapter 5 – Setting Affairs in Order**

"Where have you been?" Harry asked curiously as Hermione popped through the portrait hole.

"Oh, talking to a teacher," she replied vaguely.

"Would you like us to pin Professor Dumbledore to your side?" Ron asked politely, "That way you'll always have someone to answer your questions."

Harry snorted at this, and Hermione allowed herself a small smile before rejoining.

"Thankyou for your tremendous support for my quest for knowledge, you two."

"Our great pleasure, Miss Granger," Harry declared foppishly as he stood up and bowed very deeply, "And may I say, on behalf of Mister Weasley and myself, should you require any assistance on your gallant quest, please don't hesitate to ask someone else."

That forced a laugh out of her and Ron, and they all fell into seats around the biggest fire in the common room.

"So how were your auditions?" She asked.

"Oh, mine was alright," Ron said with a shrug, "My voice cracked while I was singing, which was a bit embarrassing, but what can you do?"

"What about Ginny? Did she audition?"

"No, she's doing sets with Dean Thomas," Harry answered, "Professor Daniels said she could still be an extra and wander on in big scenes. And did you hear that some of the teachers auditioned? They reckon McGonagall and Snape and Madame Pomfrey all auditioned." 

"I s'pose they wanted in on the fun." Ron shrugged.

"Yeah, Hogwarts has never really done anything like this before." Harry agreed.

"I guess it's fair enough…How about your audition Harry?"

"Oh, fine, I suppose," he mumbled, looking down at his knees, "did my bit, sang my song, toddled off…oh, that reminds me, Hermione, why did Snape come out after your audition all in a huff?"

Hermione felt her pancreas do a nervous flip.

"Oh, I really don't think you want to know that."

"Ah," said Ron knowingly, "That always means that's something we'd really want to know but you really wouldn't want to tell us."

"Yes," she said seriously, "And I won't be telling you, thank you very much."

"But we're your friends," Ron coerced with a cheeky smile, "Don't you trust us?"

He batted his eyelids girlishly, at which Hermione blinked.

"Was that supposed to encourage me? Look, why don't _you trust _me_? I'm telling you, you don't want to know, and you'll know soon enough anyway, so just leave me alone, alright?"_

She was upset by the end. She realized that everyone would know soon enough. The whole school would be laughing at her, pointing, giggling, mocking in a way only teenage hormones can effect. She stood up and stormed up the staircase to her dormitory, and slammed the door, hoping the boys would get the idea that she wanted to be alone now.

She sat down heavily on the edge of her four-poster bed. What a mess. What an absolute mess this whole situation was…and utterly inescapable. Professor Snape completely dependant on Deb, Deb completely dependant on Snape, and somehow she'd managed to get in the middle of it. Actually, that wasn't entirely true, _Deb_ had managed to get her into the middle of it. _Deb_ had made her Eliza, _Deb_ had offered her the position as assistant to them in their work…but then again, it was she herself who had said yes. Clearly Deborah Daniels had offered her these opportunities, but Hermione Granger had agreed. It wasn't very fair, but it was the way it was, and there was little or nothing Hermione could do to change it. 

And Eliza Doolittle! Oh dear…this would be…a challenge if nothing else. And Professor Snape as Professor Higgins! Well, at least he'd get to keep one last scrap of dignity…his title. He'd still be a professor…and in a way he was a phonetics expert…he did manipulate his voice to be as scary as he could manage…which was phonetics…of a sort. And he'd still get to be a bastard. Deb certainly was getting a little of her own back. And who would she cast as Freddy? Oh in heaven's name things could get worse! What if she cast Neville…Or Malfoy? Oh she was in trouble.

At breakfast on Monday, Deb announced that the Cast list was on the school noticeboard. There was a great wave of excited giggles and shouts and clatters of cutlery as people hurried out to see whether they had the lead role, Harry and Ron not the least of the rabble. Hermione sat, however, frozen to her seat with fear, absolutely terrified of what would happen when people saw…oh Merlin's beard when they saw her name…and Snape's name…

"Don't worry, Hermione." Hermione snapped around to see Deb was standing behind her, clutching a half-eaten banana.

"What do you mean don't worry?" she asked in a hysterical whisper, "I think I'm going to faint."

"Please don't faint," Deb said calmly as she sat down beside her, "it would be such a waste. You name isn't even up there. And neither is smarty-pants-Snape."

"What do you mean?" Hermione lowered he volume to barely audible. "How can it be a cast list if Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins aren't there?"

"Simple," Deb shrugged and chomped on her banana, "I didn't write either of you down…at least, I didn't write Snape down, and you've got a different name. And no one knows which play we're doing yet, so no one's going to ask. Calm down Hermione, don't hyperventilate."

It was only when Deb mentioned it that Hermione realized she sounded as though she'd sprinted round the castle.

Deb winked, jumped out of her seat and marched purposefully out of the hall, clapping Ron on the shoulder as he entered and she exited.

"Bloody out of her mind," Hermione muttered.

The boys returned with identical grins of pride. Hermione tried to oblige them with a curious smile, but wasn't sure how successful she was.

Ron pointed to himself with glee, "I'm Freddie Eynsford-Hill and" He pointed to Harry, "He's the Butler."

If Hermione had been smiling, the smile had disappeared. She thought she was going to cry. Deb was deliberately making her life a living hell for…what reason? She had no idea what she'd done to deserve this.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry asked, face now set in concern.

She couldn't answer. She didn't know what to say. She simply rose from her seat and left the hall dazedly wondering if moaning myrtle would share her bathroom with her.

She was in the entrance hall, about the make her way to the Gryffindor common room when Deb's voice shattered her reverie again.

"They've told you?"

"Yes." She didn't turn to look. She didn't even have the energy to fight. All the fear and nervousness had expelled her strength.

"It's not as bad as it looks from here. No one's going to know…you'll see…come to the meeting at eight o' clock in the hall…Just you wait."

Hermione guessed there were seventy, maybe eighty people clumped in the centre of the hall, chattering excitedly about…nothing, Hermione guessed. Harry and Ron immediately engaged in conversation about Quidditch. It made Hermione want to destroy their broomsticks, but she thought they might stop breathing if their broomsticks weren't nearby.

As the boys moved to converse with some of the Quidditch team, Hermione sat down at one of the long dining tables, trying to look as calm and as nonchalant as possible.

Deb strolled into the hall, smiling at the collection of students. She sailed into the centre of the throng, and everyone moved to surround her in a shape that was somewhat reminiscent of a circle.

"Evening ladies and Gentlemen, and welcome to your first meeting concerning this year's school play. In fact, we shouldn't really call it a play…it's really a musical…and I'm sure your wondering which one it is at that. Well, I'll tell you, though most children of magical background will find this musical rings not a bell. We will be performing the musical adaptation of George Bernard Shaw's classic "My Fair Lady."

Harry laughed along with most of the other Muggle-borns. But there were still a great number of students who stared blankly at Deb, absolutely incomprehensive.

"I can see a completely shameful amount of you have never heard of my fair lady, so I'll explain. My Fair Lady is a story about muggles, firstly…A few particular muggles. One Professor, Professor Henry Higgins, who happens to be an expert at recognizing English accents, is a main character. He also has a friend, a Colonel Pickering, who wrote some book or other that Professor Higgins enjoyed. Which is really very nice because Professor Higgins wrote a book that Colonel Pickering enjoyed. So they meet and they're instantly friends.

"However, they chance upon a flower-girl with a terrible accent that makes you want to kill her, and Professor Higgins tells Colonel Pickering that he can turn her into a princess in six months. And so, after a bit of bantering about, they undertake the project of turning the flower-girl into a princess. Hilarity ensues, much singing, dancing etcetera etcetera…you get the point."

The throng muttered skeptically, wondering if it would be any good.

"Trust me Ladies and Gentlemen, I know what I'm doing. Now, you're probably wondering who will be playing our lead roles. If you didn't happen to check the board, we'll go through them now." Deb pulled out a scroll and began to read out roles, "Ahem, the following parts are to be played by members of the faculty because they are specified to be older than Professor Higgins. Mrs Pearce, the mistress of Professor Higgins' house will be played by Poppy Pomfrey. Professor Higgins' mother will be played by Minerva McGonagall. Alright, now, although Colonel Pickering is also supposed to be older than Higgins, Neville Longbottom will be imbibing an ageing potion and playing that role."

Hermione saw Neville looking around in fear. Probably hoping Snape doesn't make him brew it himself, she thought.

"Freddie Eynsford-Hill will be played by Ron Weasley, And Draco Malfoy will have the role of Zoltan Karpathy."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Oh in Merlin's name…she was going to have to dance with that wanker Malfoy…Oh…oh no…

"Now, there are still two roles that I haven't mentioned, and they are those of our main characters…"

Hermione froze…oh here we go…

"But I'm keeping that a surprise for now because I think it's damn hilarious and I'll get a kick out of seeing you seeing them for the first time. So, we shall rehearse without them for now and closer to performances and when costumes have been made and sets and so on, we'll have them come in."

Oh thank heavens! Hermione heaved a sigh of relief whilst everyone heaved a sigh of disappointment. She'd live to see another day without total humiliation….but she had to remember her days were numbered…

"Ladies and gents, rehearsals will commence this Saturday. We'll be rehearsing every Saturday from four o' clock till seven in the evening."

There was a shout of indignation.

"That's our weekend, that is," Seamus whined.

"And this is your musical, this is," Deb retorted seriously, "So you'll have to put in the time, and besides, you'll enjoy it. I promise. I know it looks like a mountain from here, but once you get to the top you'll think it was a bubby little grassy knoll." She paused and scanned the faces around her. "You all look so depressed," she observed sadly, then clicked her tongue, "Alright everyone, put a hand into the middle of the circle….come on…everyone." 

She knelt down and put her own hand in, and others followed, and more and more until there was a forest of hands over Deb's head.

"Okay!" she screamed enthusiastically…almost manically, "We're going to put on the best damn My Fair Lady this world has ever seen! We're gonna make history! Everyone say it!"

There was a bored and hesitant repetition of Deb's words.

"We'regonnamakehisory."

"No good you lot! Say it louder! WE'RE GONNA MAKE HISTORY!"

"We're gonna make history!"

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

"WE'RE GONNA MAKE HISTORY!"

"THAT'S IT! AGAIN!"

"WE'RE GONNA MAKE HISTORY!!!!!"

"OKAY! NOW GO TO YOUR ROOMS AND MAKE SOME NOISE!"

The crowd dispersed making a racket similar to a band of football hooligans, running out like football players themselves. Hermione watched as Harry and Ron jogged out the hall, their faces lit up with the kind of joy she usually only saw at a Quidditch game.

How very strange…and oddly hilarious.

"I told you it wouldn't be so bad, didn't I?" Deb was sitting on the Hufflepuff dining table, a bag of marshmallows in one hand.

"When's the actual performance?" She asked neutrally.

"Just after Christmas holidays, which you'll all be staying for." Deb popped a marshmallow into her mouth. "That's why we've got to cram it in. especially you and Professor Higgins…Which means you have to make a choice."

"And that would be?"

"We can either a): stop your private lessons and substitute them in with rehearsing with Snape and making the potion…or b): we can go on with the lessons and you can help us with the potion and rehearse with Severus as well. Consider also that, whatever happens with this potion, both Severus and I will give you full marks in our subjects, as you are going beyond your line of duty. But this is still your choice, I'll be happy with whatever you choose."

Hermione considered it. The rehearsals and time spent on the potion would weigh her down considerably. Her private lessons were not a problem. There was no homework for defense against the Dark Arts or the private lessons, and doing research that had never been done before was always exciting. How could she resist?

"We'll go on with the private lessons and I'll stop sleeping."

Deb laughed, "I'm sure Severus will oblige you with a pick-me-up potion if needs be, but you'll be fine, I'm sure. And if you ever need to stop, you can stop anything but the musical. You're stuck on that one."

"I know," she sighed, "I didn't think I could get out of it."

"Why doesn't anyone believe me that it's going to be fun? It will be. You'll look back on this as one of the best times of your life. I guarantee it."

"Would you be willing to make a bet on that?" Hermione asked slyly.

"Absolutely," Deb said, not batting an eyelid. "I'll bet a tattoo on the arse that you'll thank me for making you do this."

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "Not on my life….Aboslutely not."

"Ohhhhh, scared are we?"

"Yes, actually, terrified." She knew Snape's story, and she wasn't stupid enough to fall for that one.

"Oh, come on, if you win I'll let you choose what gets tattooed on my arse."

"I don't want to choose…I don't want to have this bet with you at all!"

"Come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

"It's visiting the Antarctic."

"Oh, you're so boring. Alright, I'll add in another condition. If you win, I'll guarantee you a place in Mt Olympus University or Oxford…or both."

Ooh, Deb did know how to lure her prey. A place at Mt Olympus and Oxford…oh…but a tattoo….but Mt Olympus….she could probably get in by herself, but a guarantee…

"Oh, alright!" she gave in her head in her hands.

"Yes!" Deb shouted victoriously, "Another arse with my name on it," and she popped another marshmallow in her mouth. "We'll rehearse Eliza and Higgins after lunch on Saturdays, say, two o' clock in my chambers? And work on the potion…or at least the theory of it will be Saturday nights, from eight. Which means you get a whole day in the loony bin with us, the Psycho's."

"Are you sure you want to keep this bet, Deb? I don't think I'll enjoy this."

Deb's eyes sparkled mischievously.

"I hate to repeat myself, dear girl, but, ahem, just you wait."


	6. The Trapdoor Laboratory

Author's note: Right…okay, I believe this chapter is TWELVE PAGES in Microsoft word, not that it matters, because quality is what we're all looking for, isn't it? And I can't promise quality because I'm feeling very stupid. Also, I did spell-check but I probably did not catch everything, so I apologise, but I was trying to get this out ASAP.

And…there were some people who corrected me on some stuff so I just want to mention those things for a moment.

Dahlia – I know it's called Pygmalion, you know it's called Pygmalion, but I wasn't sure everyone else does, so I stuck with My Fair Lady because everyone knows that one…except wizards and witches.

SemiCharmed – I apologise, you are correct, five brothers, not three. But, the reason behind the half blood thing is simply that I thought it would be in Draco's line of thinking to consider Harry Potter a half-blood. Like Hitler thought of people with Jewish grandparents as Jews, so the Malfoys would turn their nose up at anything less than perfectly 'pure.'

Also note: anything from Pygmalion/My Fair Lady is in italics…just so everyone knows and it's clear.

So, everyone, enjoy, and I'm terribly sorry if it's not up to normal standard. What can I say? I'm retarded.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.****

**Chapter 6 – The Trapdoor Laboratory**

Hermione had a rather pleasant week…in comparison to her weekend, that is. By the end of the week she found she still had an essay on Glow Charms to write, another essay on Incendiary Potions, a project on Egyptian runes and a grand total of one hundred and fifty pages to read in various textbooks.

And then there were rehearsals…with Deb…and…oh bloody boggarts' balls…Snape.

Hermione hurried up to Deb's chambers after a morning session of homework and a quick lunch. She knocked tentatively and waited for what seemed an age.

"Hello Hermione," Deb boomed as she flung the door open, "How are we on this grand and fine afternoon?"

"Um…we're…we're…"

"Scared out of your skin, it looks," Deb said, taking her by the shoulder and leading her in warmly, "Don't worry, we won't bite…not yet anyway."

Hermione saw Snape rise out of one of Deb's red leather armchairs. He looked- to her great surprise – calm…and, not angry. He had a polite and neutral regard, almost as though someone had wiped off the mask of anger and bitterness he wore to classes, leaving him oddly blank, and perhaps a little more vulnerable.

He nodded toward her, "Good Afternoon Miss Granger." He was…polite…it was insane!

"Good Afternoon Professor," she replied quietly.

"Oh for heaven's sake, stop speaking like that," Deb stomped her foot irritably, "you sound like you've got poles up your arses…gee, I have quite a fixation on arses don't I? Never mind." She gestured to each of the in turn, "Severus, this is Hermione, Hermione, Severus; I don't believe you've met before."

They simply stood at either ends of the room, looking at each other, quite uncomfortable.

"Oh, look at you two morons, standing around like you'd never seen each other before," she walked over to Snape and pushed him toward Hermione, pushing him at the end so that he nearly fell over. 

"You'd better get used to each other, or you'll end up hating every minute you spend with one another."

"That wouldn't be all bad for me," Hermione replied, "Considering the bet we made."

At this Snape turned on his heel and glared at Deb.

"Deborah Daniels, what have you done?" he hissed.

She smiled her manic and gleeful smile and retorted, "I made a bet with her that she'd enjoy this. If she loses, she gets the same treatment you got: a tattoo on the…"

"_Don't talk about it while she's here!" He whispered furiously._

"Why not," Deb asked calmly, "she already knows."

"YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU _TOLD HER!!!???"_

"Yes."

At first he looked like he was going to literally bite Deb's head off, but instead, he rounded on Hermione, and she instinctively drew back in fear. He pointed one long accusing finger at her and walked towards her until his long accusing nose was centimeters from her own, his face set in a mould of absolute outrage.

"If you let one word escape your lips about it…"

"Who am I going to tell?" she asked, clenching her fists and standing firm, "Harry? Ron? Don't you think that would lead to some rather odd questions like, for instance, how on earth do I know that my teacher has a tattoo on his backside? Don't you think that would look slightly strange?"

His face relaxed to simply look annoyed and his accusatory finger lowered.

"Severus, you're being irrational," Deb said quietly, her hand now on his shoulder, "Calm down, she won't tell anyone. If you go on pointing fingers and screaming like a schoolboy, you're going to make this very uncomfortable."

"What? You mean even more than it _already is?_" he rumbled.

"Exactly."

Hermione smiled a weary smile and shook a heavy head. Always playing games with one another.

"Now, I think we'll begin with something easier…like the first scene…I'll do all the other roles…" Deb settled herself on her desk, "…And you two do your parts."

"I don't need this script." Snape said blandly as he retrieved it from his bag.

"Fair enough," Deb replied, "Chuck it back here then."

Snape rolled his eyes as he walked towards her to return it by hand.

"Do you believe Mr Bernard Shaw would've appreciated you throwing his script about like a pair of dirty long johns?"

"I don't think he'd give a flying firecracker actually. Do you?"

Snape clenched his jaw and swooped back to where he'd been standing.

"Wait," Hermione broke in, "Does that mean that you already know all your lines Professor?"

"Considering I just returned the script I would imagine the answer to that question is yes."

"Don't worry Hermione," Deb interjected, "You'll know them eventually, and Severus has a near photographic memory. As long as you've got a feel for them by now. Let's just get cracking, shall we? From the first scene, methinks, where Higgins first speaks…no, wait, from where the chap tells Eliza someone's watching her. Are we ready…very good, let's begin. Hermione, why don't you stand on this side of this chair here…" Deb pointed her to one of the armchairs in front of her desk, "…And you, Severus, you stand on the other side of the other chair there…the tea cup is on the desk for you…you know what to do I imagine?"

"Indeed."

"Then let's begin, I'll start with the bystander's line…Ahem…_'Ere, you be careful: better give him a flower for it. There's a bloke 'ere, behind that pillar, takin' down ev'ry blessed word you're sayin'."_

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to think through Eliza's Doolittle's mind. She mimed looking around an invisible pillar (feeling very stupid) and warped herself into hysterics.

_"I ain't done nothin' wrong by speaking to the gentleman. I've a right to sell flowers if I keep off the kerb. I'm a respectable girl: so help me, I never spoke to him 'cept so far as to buy a flower off me."_

_"What's all the bit of a noise?" _Deb mimed the two bystanders,_ "'S a Tec takin 'er down."_

_"Well I'm makin an honest livin'!" _Hermione continued the hysteric parody And Deb slotted in the bystanders in their respective curiosity.

_"There, there, there, there! Who's hurting you, you silly girl? What do you take me for?"_ Snape stepped away from his armchair and further towards her.

_"On my Bible oath I never spoke a word-"_ Hermione quivered and shook, feeling yet more stupid, trying to remain in character.

_"Oh, shut up, shut up. Do I look like a policeman?_ Snape was very good at being snappy…Hermione reminded herself of how much practice he had.

_"Then what d'ya take down me words for?" _Hermione put hands to her hips indignantly, _"How do I know y' took me down right? You just show me what you wrote about me."_

Snape removed a small notebook from his inner pocket and flipped it open. Hermione examined it and saw real signs there that she really didn't understand.

_"Oh-ow-oo,"_ Hermione sighed in mock incomprehension,_ "What's that? That ain't proper writin'. I can't read it."_

_"I can. It says, 'I say, cap'n; n' baw ya flahr orf a pore gel.'"_

_"Oh, it's cause I called 'im cap'n"_ Hermione turned to Deb, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat, But she took no notice. "_I meant no harm. Oh, sir, don't let him lay a charge against me for a word like that!"_

Deb quickly slipped into Pickering, "_Charge? I'll make no charge."_ She turned to Snape, _"Really, sir, if you are a detective you needn't begin protecting me against molestation from young women until I ask for it. Anyone can tell the girl meant no harm."_ She muttered in an undertone the bystander's line, _"'E ain't no Tec, he's a gentleman: look at 'is boots."_

_"How are all your people down at Selsey?" _Snape asked politely.

_"Who told you my people come from Selsey?"_ Deb asked heatedly.

_"Never mind; they do."_ Snape sneered. He really did do it well, Hermione thought.

Snape turned to her. "_How did you come to be so far east?" _ He looked at his little notepad._ "You were born in Lisson Grove."_

_"Oooh, what 'arm is my in leavin' Lisson Grove? It weren't fit for pigs to live in; and I had to pay four-and-six."_ Hermione really started the works. She wailed like a cat stuck in a tree. Hermione was rather sure Snape really was offended by the noise.

_"Oh, live where you like but stop that noise!"_

_"Come, come! He can't touch you: you've a right to live where you please."_ Deb jumped off the desk and stood nearer to Hermione, still looking over lines in the script.

_"I'm a good girl, I am!"_ Hermione moaned.

_"Yes, yes." _Deb patted her gingerly and twitched again into a bystander._ "Where do I come from?" She turned to Snape._

_"Hoxton."_ Snape replied succinctly.

_"Well, who said I didn't? Blimey, you know ev'ryfink, you do!"_ Deb switched again to a posh lady, Miss Eynesford-Hill. Hermione quickly glanced over her coming lines.

_"You, sir, do you think you could find me a taxi?"_

_"I don't know whether you've noticed it madam but it's stopped raining."_ Snape continued his disdainful manner,_ "You can get a motorbus to __Hampton Court__… Well that's where you live, isn't it?"_

_"What impertinence!"_ Deb shook her head and flipped over to bystander mode.

_"'Ere, tell him where 'e comes from 'f ya wanna go fortune-tellin'_." She pointed to herself and Snape responded.

_"Cheltenham, Harrow, Cambridge, and er_…" Snape looked at his notepad once again _"__India__?"_

_"Quite right!"_ Deb looked impressed for a moment then became bystander again, _"Blimey." 'E ain't a Tec, he's a bloomin' busy-body. That's what 'e is." Just as the words slipped from her mouth she had become Pickering again. Hermione suspected she had training in acting as well, Never mind Snape. _"If I may ask, sir, do you do this sort of thing for a living, in a music hall?"__

_"Well I have thought of it."_ Snape replied thoughtfully,_ "Perhaps I will one day."_

_"He's no gentleman; he ain't interfere with a poor girl."_ Hermione murmured.

_"How do you do it, may I ask?" _Deb asked interestedly.

_"Simple phonetics. The science of speech. That's my profession: also my hobby. Anyone can spot an Irishman or a Yorkshireman by his brogue, but I can place a man within six miles. I can place him within two miles in __London__. Sometimes within two streets." Snape looked very pleased with himself indeed, the resemblance to Rex Harrison was mind-boggling._

_"Ought to be ashamed of himself, unmanly coward!"_ Hermione continued angrily.

_"Is there a living in that?"_ Deb asked Snape.

_"Oh yes. Quite a fat one."_ Snape replied quite politely, considering.

_"Let him mind his own business and leave a poor girl-" _Hermione muttered again.

_"WOMAN! CEASE THIS DETESTABLE BOOHOOING INSTANTLY; OR ELSE SEEK THE SHELTER OF SOME OTHER PLACE OF WORSHIP."_

Hermione would've responded slightly stronger had she not been scared out of her wits. He was bloody scary when he did that, roaring like a maniac. She'd only ever seen him do _that_ kind of shouting when he'd thought he'd captured Sirius Black. Oddly Enough, he'd been screaming at her then too.

_"I've a right to be here if I like, same as you_."Hermione quavered.

_"A woman who utters such disgusting and depressing noise has no right to be anywhere--no right to live."_ Hermione thought he sounded like he really believed it. Was it because he did, or was it because he was a spectacular actor?_ "Remember that you are a human being with a soul and the divine gift of articulate speech: that your native language is the language of Shakespeare and Milton and the Bible; don't sit there crooning like a bilious pigeon."_

_"Ah-ah-aw-aw-boo-boo!" _Hermione howled.

Just as she ceased to shriek, Deb clicked her fingers and music rang from the walls. Snape began his poem over it.

_"Look at her: a prisoner of the gutter,   
Condemned by every syllable she utters,   
By right she should be taken out and hung,   
For the cold-blooded murder of the English tongue."_

_"Ah-ah-aw-aw-oo-oo!"_ Hermione continued yowling.

_"'Ah-ah-aw-aw-oo-oo' Heavens! What a sound!"_ Snape mimed writing it in his notepad, and continued, the music heeding his cues.

_"This is what the British population,   
Calls an elementary education."_

_"Come, sir; I think you picked a poor example."_ Deb argued Pickering-ly.

_"Did I...?"_ Snape raised his eyebrows and pointed ambiguously.

_"Hear them down in __Soho Square__,   
Dropping 'h's everywhere,   
Speaking English anyway they like.   
You sir: did you go to school?"_

_"What d'ya tike me faw, a fool?" _Said Deb.

_"Well, no one taught him "take" instead if "tike".   
Hear a Yorkshireman, or worse,   
Hear a Cornishman converse;   
They'd rather hear a choir singing flat.   
Chickens, cackling in a barn;   
Just like this one." _Snape pointed to Hermione, as is she were a pair of old socks.

_"Garn!"_ Hermione said lowly.

_'Garn'--I ask you, sir: what sort of word is that?"_ Snape shrugged. And persisted.

_"It's "ow" and "garn" that keep her in her place,   
Not her wretched clothes and dirty face.   
Why can't the English teach their children how to speak?   
This verbal class distinction, by now, should be antique.   
If you spoke as she does, sir, instead of the way you do,   
Why you might be selling flowers too."_

_"I beg your pardon." _Deb asked, still doing a little jig to the music. Snape ignored her and maintained his pace.

_"An Englishman's way of speaking absolutely classifies him.   
The moment he talks, he makes some other Englishman despise him.   
One common language I'm afraid we'll never get.   
Oh why can't the English learn to…" _Snape put down his notepad, in lieu of paying for his invisible coffee.

_"Set a good example to people, who's English, is painful to your ears.   
The Scotch and the Irish leave you close to tears!   
There are even places where English completely disappears,"_

Snape extended a hand for non-existent change.

_"Why, in __America__ they haven't used it for years." Deb chuckled and Snape drained the empty teacup._

_Why can't the English teach their children how to speak?   
Norwegians learn Norwegian; the Greeks are taught their Greek.   
In __France__ every Frenchman knows his language from "A" to "Zed"--   
The French don't care what they do, actually, as long as they pronounce it properly."_

Snape moved toward Hermione leaned on the armchair beside her.

_"Arabians learn Arabian with the speed of summer lightning.   
The Hebrews learn it backwards which is absolutely frightening.   
Use proper English, you're regarded as a freak.   
Oh why can't the English--   
Why can't the English learn to speak?"_

The music stopped and Deb laughed uproariously and put her arms around the incongruous two actors, who unwillingly coalesced with her. "This is going to be fantastic! I love it! I just love it. Everyone's going to love it! I know they will. I'm so excited; I just don't have the words."

"That's a first," Snape retorted.

"You know," She smiled serenely, "I'm so happy I don't even feel like responding to that."

"How sad," Snape sneered sarcastically, "The world will be left lacking your heavenly rejoinders for today."

"Don't worry," Deb nodded reassuringly, "I'll make up for it tomorrow."

At Sunday lunch, Hermione found herself discussing Ginny's ideas for the musical. The whole thing seemed to permeate through everyone's minds, harnessing them in for Deb's joyride. Even Quidditch seemed pale in comparison to this colorful adventure.

"I really think we should stick to the original costumes…or something similar," Ginny decided, "I think it should be the way the old one was because that worked so well."

"What does Dean say?" Hermione asked, trying not to think about what they'd make her wear for the Embassy ball in the musical.

"He agrees, and since he's the student leader of the team, that's what we'll be doing."

"Wait," Hermione asked, suddenly snapping into her logic, "How do you know about the original?"

"Deb showed it to us yesterday, Hermione, weren't you there?"

"Erm…no, I was…Professor Daniels excused me so that I could do homework."

"Oh," Ginny shrugged, "Well, it was great! I loved it! I just wonder _who Deb has to play Higgins and Eliza."_

"Oh," Hermione sighed, "I'm sure you'll be surprised when you find out?"

"Hermione, do you know?" Ginny asked in suspicious awe.

"No, no, no," Hermione shook her head, "I just…well, Professor Daniels is very…eccentric, so her choices will be too."

"Right," Ginny nodded doubtfully, still eyeing Hermione curiously.

Hermione avoided Ginny's eyes and looked up to the staff table. Deb was immersed in conversation with Snape…Severus, whatever… then Deb looked over to Hermione, winked and nodded her head in the direction of the door. Hermione nodded and apologized to Ginny,

"Sorry Gin, got to finish off some of my work, just remembered a few pages I haven't read."

Ginny squinted at her, trying to decide if she was being truthful.

"Alright, see you later," she said with a slow nod.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and rushed out towards the dungeons. She didn't see Ginny turn to the boys in concern.

"Hey, you two clowns," she tugged at Harry and Ron's sleeves, their owners, as usual, discussing a Quidditch tactic. She wasn't sure how much Quidditch there was to talk about, but now with Harry as team captain, and Ron as Keeper, they seemed to have no vocabulary outside of Quidditch terminology.

"Oy, boys!" she pulled harder.

"What Gin?" Ron asked angrily.

"Have you noticed Hermione's acting a bit strange lately?"

"No," Ron said immediately, "I'm sure you're imagining it."

"Don't worry, Gin," Harry soother, "I'm sure she's just a little stressed, that's all. Remember she's taking extra lessons with Professor Daniels."

"Yeah, I suppose," Ginny acquiesced, though still unsatisfied.

She resolved to find out what was eating Hermione Granger.

Hermione made her way down the numerous staircases to the dungeons and rounded the corner to Snape's classroom. The man himself and Deb were walking down the corridor opposite. He nodded politely as he approached and waved a hand to make the door open.

"We will not be working here," He said shortly as he continued a door behind his desk, "Serpentine!" he growled at the door, and it opened quickly and quietly, seemingly fearful of the password-giver.

"Tell us something we don't know, mate," Deb retorted.

"I was not stating it for you sake, Deborah," he snarled, "I was stating it for Miss Granger's sake, seeing as she's the only one here who doesn't know about the trapdoor laboratory." He pushed the door open and allowed the two women through to the next room, a rather small store room, with a small trapdoor in the floor.

"Trapdoor Laboratory?" Hermione asked curiously. As Snape politely opened the door and pushed the ladder down for them.

"The Potions masters' private laboratory," Deb explained as they descended into the darkness below, "Far from the prying eyes and hands of juvenile delinquents, as he so kindly puts it."

They were in a dank chamber, whose only furnishing was a dusty old cabinet and a spindly spiral staircase winding up and through a hole in the ceiling, which was the only source of the sparse light, suffusing the sultry darkness.

"Each teacher, you will find, has a private laboratory for private experiments," Snape continued Deb's explanation in his very pragmatic teacher-voice, "As no teacher here is without a few minor distractions from Hogwarts education. Mine happens to be up this staircase…all the way up it."

Snape opened the cabinet, which revealed a ring of keys hanging on a hook.  As he returned to them, Deb walked towards the staircase, "It's a long walk, Hermione, my girl, you'll have your exercise for the week, I can tell you that. Are we ready Severus?"

"Indeed," he muttered and led them up and out.

Deb hadn't been kidding. It seemed the staircase led up…in fact all the way to the top of the castle…to a door with seventeen locks, one in the centre and sixteen round the edges. Snape took the largest key on the ring, swiftly placed it in the keyhole and turned.

"Ascot Gavotte!" he proclaimed, and the other sixteen keys on the rings suddenly sprang off, jumped into their respective keyholes and turned in unison.

"Getting into the spirit, are we Severus?" Deb smiled.

Snape harrumphed at her and swung the door open to allow them entry.

Snape's private laboratory was surprisingly very similar to the double-storey conservatory that Professor Sprout used for the high maintenance plants, with strange species growing on the top level, and stores and a library in opposite corners on the bottom. It held facilities for numerous cauldrons on stone benches in the other corners, of which Hermione counted six. There was also a great deal of extra space 'for practical use of the potions' as He put it (in case there were some unexpected reactions.) And, in the centre of the laboratory, stood one circular Blackwood table in the centre of the room, around which were three leather desk chairs in classic Slytherin green. (The silver trimming went without saying.)

"We will be using the central table as a desk. I thought it most convenient because it allows our work to be combined. I believe it will be some time before we need begin any practical work, although, we can begin brewing my hybrid of your family's potion, of which I am certain we have all the ingredients. There are twelve rats in that corner and any stationery is just in the cabinet beside the library…which I believe is where we begin our research."

"Indeed," Deb swiftly took over, "We'll begin my grouping different species together by their magical properties. Severus, I imagine that somewhere in your library you possess all twelve volumes of _The Avalon Encyclopedia of Flora?"_

"Of course. You can begin at volume one, I at volume five and Miss Granger at volume…"

"Hold it!" Deb interrupted, "Hermione, I don't want you to do anything unless he calls you _by your name_. Severus, she has a name…use it!"

He winced.

"Very well._ Hermione_ can begin at volume twelve."

"Much better. And Hermione, use his name too."

"One moment please," Snape murmured angrily, "Deborah, what gives you the right to deny me my title? The girl is my student, I her teacher, she should use my proper title, as she should use yours."

"Oh, for pity's sakes, Severus, swallow your pride and get over it. Will you cry is she doesn't call you 'Professor'?"

"You're quite intent on leaving me with no dignity whatsoever, aren't you?"

"No," she said patronizingly, patting his arm, "You've still got your clothes on, see?"

"Oh be quiet!" he barked, hand over his eyes, "I've had enough of your madhouse rhetoric."

"Good, then we can get to work."

They worked well into the evening, studying each description of each plant and categorizing it according to properties and strength. At what Hermione imagined was dinner time the house elves brought them dinner: Trays and trays of glorious food that they most certainly would not be able to finish. They all shuffled their papers around to make room for plates and cutlery, and the house elves tried to be as accommodating as possible…especially where Snape was concerned.

They sat together eating in quasi-silence, Deb humming something unidentifiable under the mouthfuls of food she was gobbling down. The conversation was sparse if anything.

"If we continue at this rate," Deb observed, "We'll be finished next month."

"Don't be ridiculous, Deborah," Snape bit back, "we may not be finished till next year."

"I think we will." Deb argued calmly.

"What do you think, Hermione?" Snape looked at her, his eyes somehow managing to burn through to the back of her skull. She looked down to her plate and managed to mumble out a response.

"I…I think somewhere between next month and next year we'll have mapped this out."

"There you are, Severus," Deb smiled, "Hermione is the voice of temperance and reasoning. I told you we'd need her."

"I never argued that her presence wouldn't be advantageous," Snape growled, "I said it would be unfair on her…"

"Oh you _so_ did not! I remember your words very clearly. You didn't even say anything about her, you said it about you. You said 'you're trying to kill me, aren't you?"

"And I'm almost sure you are."

"Why would I want to slowly kill you in this fashion when we're all dying at about the same rate anyway?"

"I can't pretend to be able to fathom the perverted depths of your mind, Deborah, but I can only guess you derive some pleasure from it."

"Don't be ridiculous. If I got pleasure out of making you suffer I'd have sent you to your mother's house."

They ate a little more, until Deb piped up again.

"I don't know" she sighed," something about all of this seems wrong…I think we're missing something…something big."

"Well, until you can be more specific we ought to take this path, as we have no other options."

"I know, smarty-pants," she murmured offhandedly, "But there's something…I'll think of it."

"Of course you will," he retorted, "you always find a way to ruin things."

"DO YOU TWO EVER GIVE EACH OTHER A REST!?"

Hermione could stand it no longer. At first their games were funny…now they were chewing each other like dogs with bones.

"Whatever do you mean, Hermione?" Deb asked, the manic smile indicating she knew exactly what Hermione was talking about.

"These…games…these stupid word games you play…you pick at each other like vultures…it's insane!"

Deb rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"I was sure I told you we were insane." She stood up to stand beside the fireplace. "I'll let you think about that a little before I explain the psychological details of it. Perhaps you'll figure it out in time.

Even though the work was thoroughly boring, Hermione found it was midnight before Hermione even remembered she had school the next day.

"Oh no!" she cried out, looking at her watch, "It's twelve o' clock. I really should get back to my dormitory."

"Well," Deb asked, retrieving her head from her large black tome. "What have you got first lesson tomorrow…or today… you know…"

"Potions…If I'm not mistaken," she murmured, looking uncomfortably towards Snape. He didn't look up from his Omniscope to reply.

"Work another two hours with us and do not attend my class tomorrow." He sounded very bored, "I assure you your peers will not be learning anything even mildly challenging. You will not miss anything substantial."

"That's Snape-language for 'you're an extraordinary student and you need not come to class because whatever they learn in two hours will take you about a minute and a half," Deb explained.

"Who said that?" Snape asked indignantly.

"You did…you just did it in a very…_you_ way."

"Oh be quiet Deborah!" Snape barked angrily, "Just do some damn work!"

Deb laughed impishly and looked toward Hermione,

"I just love stirring him…he makes it so easy!"

Snape grunted once more and they returned to work.

At two o' clock they agreed to cease work and went away to bed. Hermione hurried away to the portrait of the fat lady and puffed out the password.

"Topsy Turvy!"

"Is it morning already?" the portrait lady said blearily as she swung open, without seeing Hermione, "Wait, who was that…where are you?"

Hermione dragged herself op to her room and sprawled herself onto the bed…very contently…after all, she didn't have to go to potions class…if it really was such a bad thing.

As Hermione lay in bed, she considered her working time with Deb and…oh Gods, _Severus. Did she have to say his name? It didn't even sound right in her head. Was that even his name? She'd never even thought about his first name. Teachers don't have first names for students to use…especially not that one! Of course she knew all their first names; she just…wriggled slightly at the thought of using it. _

Except Deb…but that was different, she'd barely known the woman before she'd asked to be called by her first name.

And boy was Deb weird…even when she worked. If she was thinking, there was no possible way to talk to her. Either she refused to answer, or she had completely disengaged herself from the real world and was immersed in theoretical circumstances.

Snape had been a fairly reasonably work partner, if anything he was simply quiet. He worked, asked no impertinent questions and was…kind. The word seemed very wrong in her mouth…like sand. She should've been spitting it out, but it got stuck there.

And what of this bizarre relationship? Well, Hermione couldn't know what they'd been through, and they both were victims of very powerful madmen, so their insanity was understandable…however, the incarnation of it in their relationship was…very strange to say the least.

But they were good people. Ruined, tormented, tortured, sarcastic, irreverent perversions of former-personalities, yes. But they were still good in their hearts, trying to do something good.

And the fact remained that Deb had dragged her into it for no apparent reason…apart from that bet, but that was hardly a reason. No, Hermione was certain Deb had an ulterior motive…but just what was it?

Harry and Ron stood nervously outside the Potions classroom. They almost couldn't believe it. Hermione had _slept in._ And not only had she slept in, but she'd also _missed the start of class._

"D'you think she's sick?" Ron asked Harry worriedly.

"I can't think of any other explanation, Ron." Harry was somber.

Snape swooped around the corner and sneered at them.

"And you consider yourselves her friends? What a disgrace. You don't even know why she hasn't come to class. Tsk tsk tsk. Five points from Gryffindor _each for behaving in a manner unbecoming of a Gryffindor. Honestly, what has Gryffindor camaraderie come to these days…"_

Harry and Ron's heads nearly exploded from the blood rushing to their head. Ten points from Gryffindor for not knowing why Hermione was not in class?

"That doesn't come anywhere near fair!" Ron whispered furiously.

"Neither does he, remember?" Harry grumbled.

They sat down at the back of the class, hoping to avoid contact with the hook-nose horror at the front of the class, though knowing he would actively seek them out and take house points for…what? Wearing the Gryffindor uniform, they guessed.

As Snape was writing on the blackboard Draco Malfoy and his loping legions walked toward them, deliberately taking the long way round to the desk in front. Draco and elbowed Harry so hard he came toppling off his stool, knocking Ron off on his way down to the floor. They landed in a great hap of limbs, slightly bruised and _very_ peeved. They were raising themselves up and straightening out uniforms when Snape's villainous voice rang out to get them.

"Ten points from Gryffindor _each_ for obstructing Mister Malfoy's path."

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR…mmmfmmfff"

Ron had started to scream, but Harry quickly clamped his hand over Ron's mouth, trying to avoid a disaster.

"No, Mister Potter, remove your hand, if mister Weasley has something to say, let him say it…_at his own risk."_

Harry didn't remove his hand as Ron struggled to free himself.

"With all due respect Professor," Harry spat, sounding as though no respect was intended, "It isn't at his own risk, it's at all Gryffindors' risk."

"Exactly. It's all for one and one for all here. Mister Weasley might like to consider that before he decides to denigrate me as he so wishes to do."

Ron flamed up in a brilliant blush and clenched his fists to glowing white.

"Less than a year now, Mister Weasley. If I can tolerate you and Mister Potter for that time, you can tolerate me for just as long."

Snape turned back to his role and read out names. To Harry and Ron's great surprise, Hermione didn't turn up and _Snape didn't even read her name._ What did he know that they didn't? And more importantly, why did he know?

They returned to the common room to see Hermione reading _Moste Potente Potions and munching on a piece of toast._

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, "Where were you?"

"I was in bed, asleep." She answered simply, not bothering to lift her head.

"Why weren't you in class?" He asked indignantly.

"I had an exemption today?"

"Why didn't we get one?" Ron persisted.

"Because you're not helping Professor Daniels and Professor Snape make a very important potion, and neither of you have the lead role in the musical! Oh God…did I just…"

"You're doing what?" Ron asked incredulously.

"You've got what?" Harry asked in a tone to match.

Hermione clicked her tongue, cursing her temper.

"I'm helping Professor Daniels and Professor Snape with a potion and I'm Eliza Doolittle in the musical."

"You're not!" Ron whispered, disbelievingly.

"I am," Hermione replied seriously.

"Why doesn't it say your name on the cast list."

"It does, just not for that role. Professor Daniels was trying to protect me from exactly this."

The boys stood silent for a moment until Harry made the connection Hermione was hoping he would not.

"Then you know who's playing Professor Higgins."

"Err…no, Professor Daniels didn't tell me."

"Bollocks, Hermione," Harry laughed, "Don't even try lying to us. We can see right through it. You know alright."

"Yes, I do know, but I'm not telling you."

"Come on, Hermione," Ron whined, "You can't not tell us. That's not fair. We'd tell you if we knew."

"No, I don't think you would." Hermione shook her head, "I'm not telling…and that's final."

Hermione was shocked to hear the words exit her mouth almost exactly replicating her mother's angry-parent tone. But it worked on the boys, and for that she was thankful.

She held her head high, picked up her books and walked climbed out the portrait hole on her way to the next class.


	7. Mastermind's Masterpiece

Author's note: Okay, I'm not one to reveal my plans, but I had a serious case of –change-of-heart syndrome a few nights ago so this is the result. I'd also like to point out that Deb still has a few tricks up her sleeve so don't discount her just yet. That's all I ask.

And one other thing…if you're a physics person, I'm very sorry…I have no idea if what I've written makes sense, or a complete load of crap, just go with it…ignore your Muggle side and embrace the magic!

And just very quickly, for those people who have asked me questions:

SlytherinQueen87 – I didn't want anyone to get the feeling that the musical was anywhere near the back of Deb's mind, so I decided to put that scene in. I know it isn't the greatest writing, but hey, Jane needs to do some mindless work every now and then. 

Phoenix Flight: NO NO NO, there will be no sex! Rest assured, I'm twisted, but not quite that twisted.

Becky – don't worry, Draco has his part to play…I haven't forgotten him.

A NOTE TO ALL: everyone, please note I'm not telling you if there'll be a relationship here, let alone between who, so please…trust me…you've enjoyed the story so far, so trust that I've thought this through…it may not be what you wanted, but hopefully won't be what you expected.

Aaaaaand I must say Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I really love hearing anything, really Anything anyone has to say. I love it!

So on that note…we continue….

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.****

**Chapter 7 – Mastermind's Masterpiece**

Hermione had a whole two weeks to adjust to her new schedule… Tuesday night lessons with Deb, Saturday mornings to practice Eliza with _Severus and Deb, Sunday afternoons and evenings to work on the potion… or not really the potion yet, but the theory they needed to work out what was going in the potion. It was long, slow, tedious work, and seemingly unending, but they were doing it… gradually._

She even had time to spend with her friends. She, Harry, Ginny and Ron had visited Hagrid on the last Sunday morning. He'd kindly offered them one of his new culinary creations, which they had kindly refused and sipped only at their tea.

When Harry had told Hagrid that Hermione was Eliza, he thumped her happily on the back.

"Well done, Hermione!" He smiled, "No one could do it better than you! You'll be a right fancy Doolittle, you will."

"That's not all," Ron said angrily, "She knows who Professor Higgins is going to be and _she won't tell us!"_

Hagrid chuckled at Ron and replied, "Let 'er alone Ron, she's got a right to privacy is she wants it."

"But we want to know—" Ginny started.

"Never mind," Hagrid cut her off, "You'll find out soon enough I excpec'."

"Which reminds me," Ron said, "What are you going to do about dancing with Malfoy?" Ron sounded very anxious, as though Hermione was going to die if she danced with him.

Hagrid winked at her, and Hermione had a feeling he knew, but reminded herself that there were four people who knew: Deb, Severus, Dumbledore, probably, and herself.

"I don't know," Hermione sighed, "I suppose I'll close my eyes, grit my teeth and hold my breath til it's over. There isn't anything else I can really do about it, is there?"

"You know," Harry said pensively, "We haven't heard much from dear old Draco in the past few weeks. I would've thought he'd be breathing down our necks, trying to sniff out something to tell Daddy."

"Maybe Daddy's told him to keep out of it." Ginny suggested.

"Maybe he doesn't want to get turned into a ferret," Ron muttered viciously. Ever since they'd learned how to transfigure people at the end of last year, he'd threatened to take a leaf out of Mad-Eye-Moody/Barty Crouch Jnr's book. He was yet to come through on the threat.

They continued to chat and laugh together until lunchtime, when Hagrid offered them lunch and Hermione politely excused herself to her work with Professors Snape and Daniels, though she first intended to eat lunch in the Great Hall. Ron, Harry and Ginny were left to fend for themselves.

Her hiatus from life was abruptly intruded upon by a wild-eyed face as she was finishing the last of her pudding.

 "Hermione! Oh wonderful, I have something fascinating to share with you." Deb had taken her by the arm very suddenly and led her away from the Gryffindor common room and towards her office. "How much physics do you know?"

"Not very much," she replied sheepishly as they walked up the stairs.

"Never mind, I'll explain when we get upstairs."

The walked to Deb's office in silence, where Hermione took a seat facing Deb's desk, and Deb in her chair behind it. She waved her hand and a whiteboard rolled forward.

"Forgive me for not using a blackboard, but I hate the damn things. Anyway, do you know what momentum is?"

"Sort of."

"I'll take that as 'I don't want to really tell you that I don't.' Momentum is the force with which something is traveling, or in other words, how much energy is needed to move the particle from it's path…and the formula is mass by velocity," Deb stood up and wrote it on the whiteboard: _Momentum=mc, "m for mass, c for velocity, don't ask why. Now, do you know kinetic energy? Just answer yes or no."_

"No."

"Kinetic energy has to do with the speed of the particle…the faster it goes, the more kinetic energy. The formula for that is mass by velocity squared and all divided by two," and she wrote that formula out: _Kinetic Energy = (mc²)/2._

"Okay, so the next one is rest energy. I doubt you'll know that one from your track record so, rest energy is the energy required to create the particle…and the formula is…" and she scribbled it down, seemingly in a hurry to get through it: _Rest Energy = mc²_

"Alright, now we're up to the important part…This is just a theory, possibly a helpful one to us, but we'll see. Just, humor me, Okay?"

"Alright."

"Okay, up until now, this was accepted physics theory…nobody endeavored to take it further, and that's because nobody needed to. The muggles know no other energies and our community doesn't give a brass razoo for these things. But, if we follow the above pattern, magical energy, the energy required to move or change a particle in any way should have the formula 2 mc². And that is the energy that is transmitted by our wands, and it is directed at a particular object, matches it's energy to neutralize and override."

Hermione followed the logic: Firstly divided by two, then by one the multiplied by two.

"But how do you know that's what magical energy is?"

"I don't…I made it up…that's what a theory is…made up. But, if we also define life-force as 2 mc², that means we've explained the Avada Kedavra curse."

"Excuse me?"

"If our life-force is 2mc², and magical energy is 2mc², that means that is exactly what the Avada Kedavra curse is. It's the neutralization of the life-force."

"Then how did Harry Voldemort escape alive from the reflected Avada Kedavra curse."

"Harry escaped because his mother left a field of neutrally charged particles to deflect the curse. Her neutralized life-force, if you will. Voldemort escaped because of the potion he took. My family's potion, I believe, increases the life-force of a person to 3mc², but only temporarily. Professor Snape was able to change it to be a permanent switch to a life-force of 3mc², so when the deflected curse hit him, his was reduced to a force of mc², just barely enough to survive on, and yet not enough to kill. We don't have the capability to kill him at that state, because our wands fire only magical energy of 2mc². But, seeing as though it appears that my family's potion increases the life-force by mc², he will be made mortal, and then we just finish him off. "

"I'm confused," Hermione crossed her arms, "What life force does Voldemort have now?"

"mc²."

"Even with that renewal ceremony he did with Harry's blood?"

"That was only for his body, not his magical power. Remember Voldemort has no understanding of what we're talking about here. He works by magical premises, formulae we both learned at school, nothing more. He doesn't understand that he isn't fully returned to his original power."

"So how was he able to function as a wizard? If his wand worked, which it did, he must have had a fair bit of energy."

"Yes, he did. Remember even mc² is a great deal of energy in relation to the force of man. A wand doesn't require half so much energy as a trigger. Remember the wand doesn't actually use the life force as much as use it as a trigger. Like a match for a fire. Only need a little spark to burn a whole house down."

"Will this work?"

"Maybe…won't know unless we try."

"There don't seem to be any flaws in calculation…just a lot of…assumptions…leaps of faith."

"Yah…but we might as well give it a shot, eh?"

"Isn't that a bit….a bit of a gamble?"

"Going to war is always a gamble. Research itself is always a gamble. Thinking outside the square is always a gamble. Yes, it is a gamble, Hermione, but we have no choice. We have no other solutions. Harry is only learning to defend himself. He's learning to cast Avada Kedavra but he can't kill Voldemort without this. If we trust my theory, Harry needs the potion to make the spell work."

"You have a lot of theories."

"I do…but I'm almost sure this one's right. Let's ask you dear Headmaster." She threw a handful of blue powder into the empty grate of a nearby fireplace and blue flames shot up.

"Albie," she called into the flames, "Got something for you."

Dumbledore appeared almost instantly at the door.

"Good evening, what might you have for me Professor Daniels?"

"Please, Albie," she pleaded, "Don't call me that. Do you hear me calling you that? Now look at this board and tell me what you think."

Dumbledore approached the whiteboard and examined it, his bright blue eyes perusing the formulae. His brow furrowed at the lower ones, and for some time he was silent. And then he chuckled, a soft, warm, victorious chuckle.

"Deborah, this is the answer."

"Do you think so?" she asked skeptically.

"I couldn't have come up with it Deb, but I know that it's right. This will work. If Severus slips your potion to Voldemort and Harry casts Avada Kedavra, Voldemort will…die."

The last three words almost seemed surreal. No one had used that word in relation to Voldemort for some time now, almost afraid that mentioning the word strengthened Voldemort's immunity to it.

For a moment they all stood, faces blank, not quite daring to believe it. Suddenly Deb jumped and punched the air with furious and victorious pride…and again, and again.

"I did it! I did it! Deb's the one that did it!" she sang happily. "I'll go and tell Severus to stop scribbling away at those damn charts and start-a-brewing us a Daniels distillation!"

Deb skipped away, still shooting out waves of absolute triumph, leaving Dumbledore and Hermione in her wake.

"A proud young woman," Dumbledore nodded to himself, "But I must admit she has a right to that pride."

"Professor, is there anything she can't do?" Hermione asked, not quite sure if she was serious.

"Hermione, I must tell you I'm inclined to say no. But even Merlin had his weak spots.  I think we will find Deb is no different. The greater the soul, the greater the pain after all. Some time in the future, we will see what she is truly made of, I suspect." Dumbledore was silent for a moment, glancing at a few of the books in Deb's piles, flicking them open for a moment and skipping over the words, "And how are you enjoying your lessons with Deb?" Dumbledore inquired eventually.

"Fantastic, even though I've had…one, I think." Hermione was suddenly enthusiastic about the one thing she had been sure of, "But she's a brilliant teacher, and there isn't a question she cannot answer. And I don't have to take notes, which is always a bonus."

"I thought you were an advocate of notes and essays and all the accompanying academic practices." Dumbledore smiled, a bright glint in his eye.

"I was…I mean I am, but the things she teaches me don't need notes, they just stay in my mind, just the way she said they would."

Dumbledore's eyes glowed like bright blue sapphires. He said nothing in reply, and silence invaded as Dumbledore examined the theory. Hermione looked at it once more. "Professor?" she asked meekly.

"Yes Hermione?"

"This all seems far too…small…How can such a small formula be the answer to such a big problem?"

Dumbledore moved away from the board and sat in Deb's desk-chair, signaling to Hermione to take a seat in front of the desk.

"That formula isn't the answer Hermione. The formula is only part of the answer. In fact, it's only the path to the answer. Now that we have this information we can formulate a solution to the Voldemort predicament. However, this formula is the answer to a different question."

"Which question, Sir?"

"An age-old question that has never had an answer. For five-thousand recorded years of history and most definitely more, no one has known what magic is. We've known how to use it, how to harness it, how to control it to some degree, however we've never known what we were controlling, much the way Muggles play with nuclear power. They have some understanding of it, but not all. But Deb has just given us the answer, and, may I mention, the link between the Muggle and magical arts. Deb has explained magic. In this formula consisting of only four symbols is a mathematical explanation of everything we do. She's done the magical equivalent of proving that one plus one equals two. And she can no longer deny being a genius."

"That's not true," Deb retorted unexpectedly and breathlessly from the doorway, "Just because everyone before me was stupid doesn't make me a genius."

"In comparison you are."

"But who's comparing?"

"Please Deborah, admit there is no other in history and most likely there never will be anyone who could come up with this theory."

"In history? Einstein could have, but he wasn't a wizard, so it wouldn't have crossed his mind to have a theory for it. In the future, no there never will be because I've already figured it out. No one will need to figure it out."

"But Deborah…"

She put her hand up, "Please Albie, Don't. My head explode if you keep on with that genius rambling. Severus will be joining us momentarily, as he is presently engaged with trying to make Neville Longbottom cry…I think…or so it would seem."

"Detention again?" Hermione asked, "But it's the weekend.

"Yep-o, I know," Deb strolled over and settled herself cross-legged on the desk, "He loves giving that boy hell, doesn't he?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, "Hopefully at the end of the year Neville will build up the courage to slip a well-ruined potion into Severus' goblet."

"That'd be giving him some of his own medicine," Deb nudged the air with her elbow, "Get it? Get it?"

"Please, Ladies," Dumbledore interjected, "Let us focus. We have a new plan of attack for Voldemort; we must remain on the task at hand. If we use this tactic, we must get to Voldemort soon. Our most promising avenue of progress would be to have Severus brew the potion and administering it to him under the guise of the same potion that made him immortal last time."

"Which it is," Deb added, "More or less."

"Yes," Dumbledore continued, "But we'll need to hurry. Severus needs to-"

"I need to what, Albus?"

Snape was standing in the doorway, his eyes somehow more hollow, his face more wan.

There was a pause. A brief pause, in which reality beat down on the gathering like hailstones.

"You'll need to hurry, and declare your willingness to make up to Voldemort as soon as possible."

"Let me guess," He muttered softly, "Deborah has come up with yet another plan of attack."

"That is correct." Dumbledore replied.

"Might I be granted a hearing of this new approach?"

Deb explained, taking much of his physics knowledge for granted, Hermione noticed, simply explaining it as a pattern.

"And this means we must brew your family's potion and give it to him, as soon as possible and under the best circumstances as possible."

"Yes." Deb answered.

"And what makes you think he wouldn't test his immortality after taking your potion?" Severus asked seriously.

"He can't very well test it, because if it doesn't work he dies." Deb lowered her tone suddenly, her eyes aflame with…something dangerous. "The real test will be of your loyalty, Severus. He will test your loyalty to him, as a means of determining whether the potion will work, which is what I would do too."

"Do you know what that means for me?" Severus asked, his voice almost inaudible.

"Yes," Deb whispered, "I know what he does, and I know what it will do to you, and when you return I will be here, Albus will be here, Hermione will be here, Poppy will be here, and we will recover you…we will mend you. Between us, we can handle it."

"What for?" He asked, slumping into an armchair, "There will be nothing left for me after that. I'll have no purpose, no reason to be alive. Why not just let me die?"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, YOU BLOODY MORON!" Deb boomed, "You're like my brother, my only relative in the world! I need you, Dumbledore needs you, and if anything we'll still need you to coax Voldemort into the Forbidden forest so we can kill him!"

Severus fell silent, the grey holes in his eyes hanging heavily.

"Why me?" He murmured quietly.

Deb clicked her tongue irritably, "Why you, why you? Well, I'm buggered if I know why you!" She roared, putting one hand on either arm of his chair to hover her face above his. "If we're asking those stupid questions, Severus, why shouldn't I ask 'why me?' Why was it my family that you came after? Why was I the only one who didn't get murdered? Why did I have to watch as my parents and brother were slain like lambs at the slaughter? How should I know why either of us got stuck this way? We just did, and we both have to HANDLE IT!"

Snape broke her contact with his chair as he leapt out and paced like a restless tiger in a cage. He paced for some time, his face set with furious consternation. He stopped and pointed at Deb.

"You're insane, you know that?" he declared and began pacing again.

She blinked at him.

"Well, you're a prick, and you know it, so I imagine that I'm insane and I know it." Deb replied tartly.

Severus stopped pacing. He looked at her angrily for a moment, until his mask of anger broke into a weak smile. Deb walked towards him and gave him…_a hug. Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Was she seeing straight? Was Professor Snape really getting…__a hug? Hermione looked to Dumbledore for explanation, but he merely offered an annoyingly cheeky wink._

Deb released Severus and put a hand on either side of his face.

"You're a prick, you know that?" She smiled.

"I know," a brief smile breaking across his mouth.

"You're all of your rockers!" Hermione exclaimed.

"So are you," Deb countered indignantly, "I'm not the one who started studying for her final Potions exam _at the beginning of the term_ last year."

Hermione shuffled her feet in embarrassment.

"Don't worry," Deb laughed, "You're in good company."

Severus slunk away to his quarters, emitting his usual air of unfriendliness. When he shut the door on the outside world, he dropped the defenses, his posture, and what he truly was became his outer face. He moped into his bedroom, took of his shoes and robes and crawled into bed, trying to block out his cruel reality. He didn't want to do anything anymore. He just wanted to stay in bed, forever, let the doors lock shut, the windows keep closed and the world might leave him alone. If he shut his eyes for long enough, maybe the world would disappear. He knew it all wasn't true, but he desperately wanted it to be…

He didn't want to have to face Voldemort. He didn't want to have to endure it again…the test of Loyalty. Every Death Eater was required to undergo that test, and Voldemort was now demanding that anyone who was truly loyal to him would endure it at any chosen time, especially before offering a service.

It was gruesome, horrifying sickening to watch…and infinitely worse when he was the victim. Flashes still returned to him in occasional nightmares, flicks of pain to jerk him into remembering. And to have to suffer it again…

"Remember, after this, it will be over."

Severus jolted and quickly squirmed into sitting position.

"Albus, what are you doing here?"

"I came to reassure you. If we succeed this time, which I believe we will, there won't be a next time. You can put it all behind you…start again."

"Do you think it's that simple, Albus?" Severus asked sternly, "Do you think I can just erase so many years of pain and perversion out of my mind?"

"No," Dumbledore replied quietly, "But I think you can move on. I think you could start thinking about what you can do, rather than what you can't do. I think you should let go…because holding on to bad memories doesn't make them good. It will only weaken you."

"Please Albus, leave me be. I will do what you're asking of me, but let me just stay here for now…I don't need inspiration or heartening. I need rest. I am about to brew what is most likely one of the most complex potions ever known to man, and following this I will be facing the Dark Lord only so that he can destroy my body in no uncertain terms. Go and lecture some wayward students in my stead, because I shall not listen."

Snape rolled over and drew the covers angrily. He heard the Headmaster sigh, his footsteps as he walked out of room, and breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut. But even as he drifted to sleep, the blackness became the start of the most horrifying nightmare yet.

Oooooogiewoogiewoogie! I'm so excited to write it! Also, Deb still have some tricks up her sleeve, so don't underestimate her.


	8. Din of Man

Author's note: Okay, now I decided to change what I was going to do so I don't know if I should change the rating or not, because I don't think it's that bad anymore. It's only reference to violence. I'll just leave it…It's not that bad, really. But still later it might be.

Just a few things about for some reviewers…

Phoenix Flight – I don't follow…you said you don't handle violence well, but you didn't want me to write sex either. Hmmm…well, all I can say is that the sooner you start seeing things like _Halloween_ and _Child's Play_, the sooner you become immune to it. I go and see horror movies with my friends, and now they just laugh at it. They think it's funny when some unsuspecting citizen gets sliced and diced by something or other. And yes, people will always remember the worst of you, because that's what they can use against you. hehehe

MouseBrat – yes, apparently now they're using v for velocity, you're right. I was just going by whatever Einstein wrote. I don't take physics so I really have no idea. I was just using general knowledge, which is a bit old it seems.

As always, I love to hear everything you think about this. If you think I've screwed it up, please tell me, I want to know. 

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.****

**Chapter 8 - Din of Man**

The eyes. The first thing he saw were those mad, red, furiously cruel eyes that drilled through everything. His death eater mask melted and oozed off his face like thick sweat. Eyes began to blink at stare at him from all around, hinting at the figures bearing down upon him, suffocating him.

"_Crucio_."

It had become a sick lullaby into the most horrifying consciousness he'd ever known. Entirely consumed by pain, bolts of lightning shooting through every muscle and bone, unrelenting, unmerciful _pain._

Severus woke with a start, gasping for breath and coated in sweat. Somehow, his body had learned to wake itself from those nightmares before the worst had even begun. Amazing that the mind could do that, he thought, as he pushed himself out of bed and towards the bathroom. He glanced at a grandfather clock, whose face was currently completely shrouded in green mist.

"What time is it?" He grumbled to it.

The mist cleared away to reveal twelve numbers and two hands, the shorter of which was pointing to twelve and the longer of which was pointing to the eleven.

An omen? Could it be a signal to prepare? For him to wake almost exactly in time for Voldemort's regular calling hour seemed impossibly coincidental.

He washed his face in the bathroom, and was picking up a glass to get himself some water when his forearm erupted in pain. He dropped the glass and watched it shatter as he grasped his arm furiously.

The black sign was very clear, very dominating. He would've cut his arm off willingly instead of returning to the Circle, but unfortunately that was not an option. He had to do this, not because he wanted to, not because he thought he would survive, but because _he was the only one._ There was no one else to do this but him, and he wouldn't really have it any other way, to tell the truth. He began it, he should end it.

He quickly pulled on his Death Eater garb and mask, stole out of the castle and disapparated to the Devil's Inkpots.

The Dark Lord always chose the Devil's Inkpots as a meeting place because it was far from prying international ministry eyes, being safely tucked away in the national reserves of New Zealand. The bubbling geysers spewing sulfur were enough to keep muggles away at night and had no real effect on his legions. Not to mention the Devil's Inkpots themselves.

Apart from having a very effective name, they were very effective if ever prisoners were brought before him. The thick, black tar that glooped and bubbled seemed to bring out the fear in all parties. Voldemort liked that.

Severus apparated to the nearby lake. He watched through the bushes as figures rushed past towards their master, figures he recognized, to his great disgust.

He considered what he would tell Voldemort…that he had found the recipe to the potion, and he would happily make it again for his beloved leader.

Of course, that meant the test of Loyalty, which would probably be given to him immediately. He swallowed and steeled himself against showing any emotion, then remembered the mask, and focused on keeping emotion out of his voice. He strode out of the bushes and joined the line of Death Eaters on their pilgrimage to the Master.

It was not far. The bushes lining the path soon opened up to reveal a number of steaming pits, behind which Voldemort was seated high and proud on a throne made of a tree that had been magically bent and perverted into shape. Severus bowed low and took his place at the end of the circle, beside Malfoy. Their places had been changed after the incident in the cemetery. Nobody knew why, but obeyed nevertheless.

Severus nodded to the figure beside him who nodded and mumbled in return and faced forward, as protocol demanded.

The last few marched in, bowed and took their place, and Voldemort stood to speak.

"My friends," He smiled menacingly, "You've all returned. I must admit to you that I often wonder which of you will run from me next, as you have done little to prove yourselves worthy of my trust. Let's see what you have been able to pull together for me so far. Avery?"

A figure stood forward and proclaimed, "I have been in talks with the Avatars of Darkness and the Warlocks of Night. They have agreed to fight alongside us. This will be a great advantage as they are one hundred-strong between them internationally and devoted to their purpose, so once they have signed the contract, we can consider ourselves well-enforced."

"That is all very well, Avery," Voldemort replied nonchalantly, "But they both have leaders of their own, do they not?"

"Yes," said the man nervously.

"This means I will have to other sources of power to deal with. These leaders must be killed. I leave it in your hands, Avery, to prove your loyalty."

"Thankyou, Master, Thankyou," Avery bowed deeply and returned to his place in the circle.

"Lucius, how have you gone with the Mudblood's parents?"

"Crabbe, Goyle and I successfully transported the Grangers to my home, Master. They are…not aware of their location. We were planning to take the girl on her trip home from Hogwarts in the holidays."

"Good! At least someone can do things as I ask. Your loyalty is clear, Lucius, I do not doubt you."

Oh gods. What was he planning? Probably to lure Harry into a trap. It seemed too blunt for Voldemort's taste…never mind…the fact was that he had Hermione's parents…and was planning to take her too…probably to torture and kill them.

"Thank you, master." Malfoy bowed.

"And you, McNair?"

"The Dementors are ready at any time to join us, Master" the man stood forward, dipping his head, "I have spoken to Pettigrew, and I believe him to be well into the grips of madness. But I have spoken to the Lestranges as well. I fear that if we do not liberate them soon, we will lose their minds too to insanity."

Voldemort clicked his tongue, "I cannot afford to lose such fine servants. We must increase our pace. Severus, what can you offer me in this regard?"

He suddenly felt all eyes turn to him. There had been a lot of pressure on him to get his act together, which he had managed to avoid, but now it was mounted upon him again.

"Master," He began as he stood forward, "I have managed to lay my hands on the potion again. I thought it lost, as you bade me destroy the recipe the last time I made it. But somehow I found an unmarked, untitled copy in the Daniels' family history book. It would be my great honor to brew it for you once more."

There was a cold silence…which seemed to draw out for an unspeakable amount of time. Until he laughed his cold piercing laugh that made Severus wish for the silence.

"Severus, my friend, I don't have to tell you that you are both the most useful to me and the most dangerous. I never know if you're spying on them or if you're spying on us. It is indeed impossible to tell. You know what that means don't you?"

"I do, my lord, and I will do whatever it takes to prove my loyalty."

"Yes, you've said that before," Voldemort waved uninterestedly, "But proving your loyalty to me may also be a way of proving your loyalty to Albus Dumbledore. If you endure my test of loyalty, it may be a way of proving that you are willing to endure that for the sake of the Light."

There was again an uncomfortable silence. Severus made a conscious effort not to move, lest it be seen as a sign of weakness.

"Alright, Severus, You will take the test of Loyalty. But you will also allow me into your mind, so that I can truly see that you are loyal."

Severus' head rushed with thoughts. That meant the Imperius. He'd have to fight it. Probably a number of times…and by that time his body would be very weak. Would he be able to do it? If he could, they were saved….if he couldn't, he was doomed, and so were Deb, Albus, Hermione…

There was nothing he could do.

"As you wish, My Lord."

There was a great rumbling amongst the other Death Eaters. As Severus remembered, they considered it a great spectator sport, to watch a test of Loyalty.

"Silence!" Voldemort ordered angrily, "We must adjourn to an indoor location. Lucius, is your house prepared to play host to this occasion?"

"I am ready, as always, Master," Malfoy swiftly answered, exuding his aristocratic charm.

"Very well, we will all apparate to Malfoy Manor. Perhaps afterwards we can check up on your ..._guests._"

There were a number of pops and the party had disappeared. Severus was left on his own. He wished there was some way to get in contact with Deb, or Dumbledore…

But he had nothing.

And so, Severus apparated to the entrance of Malfoy Manor, where Malfoy senior was ushering his guests downstairs. Snape joined he line, which led him down familiar marble staircases, and again down rough hewn bluestone steps to the dungeons. Long corridors of cells, the largest of which Malfoy reserved for just such an event, a test of loyalty. He considered for a moment going to look for the Grangers, but he could not. There was far too much attention on him to suggest anything…even say anything.

Malfoy made his way to the head of the line and opened the door with an iron key. It was a large stone hall, with grates on the floor that led through to water below. A massive sort of draining system. There was also a constant dripping sound, which was, no doubt, a result of the dank atmosphere and presence of water.

The torches along the walls ignited suddenly and the room was sent into stark brazen light, as was the apparatus standing ominously in the centre. The Chair, as it had been loosely titled. Which it was, in one sense, but in many others, was definitely not. Yes, someone was supposed to sit in it, but there were many more parts. The main structure, made of steel, was intended to be able to move into any position desired, and then lock, so the subject could not move. This was ensured by the numerous straps that held each limb in place, which were also thin enough to allow access to bare skin, which was Voldemort's main concern.

The circle reformed around the chair, Voldemort standing beside it.

"Severus," He gestured toward it with a nasty grin, "If you please."

The irony wasn't lost, but neither was it enjoyed.

"As you wish," He bowed slightly and progressed towards the chair.

"I suggest you remove the top half of your attire and your footwear…if you wish not to sully them."

Severus clenched his jaw and unbuttoned his death eater robe, thanking whatever god was watching that Voldemort had not requested his mask be removed. Severus was sure it wasn't out of mercy, but rather he still preferred all death eaters remained faceless, no matter how many times their names were used. A name is easily deniable, mistakable, changeable. A face, on the other hand, was not so easy to discount.

He removed his shoes, placed the pile of clothing in a corner and sat down gingerly, trying to concentrate on slowing his breathing, now that his chest was uncovered.

"_Vinciro_!" Voldemort murmured, his wand now pointed dangerously at Severus' chest

as the straps crept up and bound him hand, foot, chest, arm, leg and head to the chair. He was completely immobile.

"Now, Severus, just in case you do not recall protocol correctly, some of your fellow servants and I shall submit you to various tests of our choice. Whatever we think will test you best. I shall be the first and last to test you, to remind you that I am the beginning and the end of your existence. We will then release you to lick your wounds and hope that you return…for your sake. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master," Severus attempted to nod, but the straps held him firmly in place.

"We'll start with something simple." He smiled viciously, "_Crucio!"_

On Tuesday night, Harry and Ron thumped on Hermione's door.

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione" Ron shouted, "You've got to come to dinner!"

Hermione clicked her tongue and slammed her book shut.

"Alright, alright," she pulled her robe off the hat stand, "I'm coming."

She threw the door open angrily while Ron was still knocking. He nearly knocked on her face he was so intent on pounding at the door.

"The door's open now, Ron" she giggled, "You don't need to get through my head."

"Sorry," he said quickly, dropping his hand.

"It's alright," she smiled, "let's go."

They trotted down to dinner and took a seat beside Seamus, who was debating with Nearly-Headless Nick about a painting on the sixth floor.

"No, I'm telling you, my boy," Nick shook his head, which wobbled almost completely off his neck, as a result, "It's a regular old horse."

"No," Seamus thumped his fist on the table, "It's Pegasus. What do you think those big white things are? Clouds?"

"Precisely!" 

Hermione knew it was neither, but decided not to share. She instead looked to the head table, where Snape was yet to be seen. She instantly looked to Deb, who smiled and winked and turned to Professor Vector.

The plates and bowls suddenly filled with all the normal Hogwarts delights, Shepherds pie, lamb chops, and all the other scrumptious sides, and the hall was filled with the noise and clatter of mealtime in stead of the noisy chatter of adolescence.

It was towards the end of desserts that the doors flung open.

Something tumbled through the doorway and onto the floor in a head of torn black robes…

_Oh good gods…Severus..._

He was lying on his front, but the tousled black hair in combination with torn black robes made it clear who it was and where he'd come from. If he wasn't dead, he wasn't far from it. Through the tears in his robes she could see scratches, apparently from claws, and teeth marks from very sharp teeth. In the deep silence, Hermione could do nothing but stare…with concern, to her great surprise…

He looked close to death, as close as it was possibly to get. Like he's been thumbing death in the face and disease and damage had come to death's rescue. Blood was smeared across his robes, or what was left of them. His long precise fingers had been torn apart, the nails completely missing, replaced by blood and torn skin. Everything was blood red or bruised purple. It was…horrifying.

Deb was already in action. She sprinted to the door and kneeled down by his side. She turned him over and the full extent of his injury became excruciatingly clear. For a moment Deb just stared, taking all the damage in.

"_Saepirio__," she muttered, pointing her wand to him, and a web of orange streams of light formed around him._

"Right!" she shouted, rising to her feet again, "Everybody out, now!"

Everyone simply looked at her.

"MOVE!" she screamed angrily, pointing to the door.

The students scrambled out of their seats and hurried out the door. Some tried to get a look at the lump of flesh on the floor but the spell Deb had cast gave something like an electric shock to anyone who came too close to the battered body on the floor. They took the hint after a few had been shocked.

When the students had departed, the teachers hurried down too.

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall snapped, "Please, go to your common room, now!"

"No," Deb exclaimed, "I need her help. Come here, Hermione." She scurried near. "Go to my quarters, the password is 'Edelwiess,' open the bottom left door in the wooden cabinet behind my desk. There'll be a large black leather bag inside. Bring it to me, now."

Hermione ran and heard Deb sending teachers off to gather things together. As she ran she chanted in her head:_ Edelwiess, Wooden Cabinet, Black Bag…Edelwiess, Wooden Cabinet, Black bag._

She was there before she knew where she was going…

Oh god, what was the password? Something about a flower…

"Edelwiess," she pleaded to the door.

It obliged her and opened wide, and Hermione ran in. She ran to the cabinet and looked in practically every door before she remembered it was the bottom left she was looking for. She yanked the door open and heaved out the immense black bag Deb wanted.

"Oh, no," she whimpered, "I can't carry this…_Mobiliarbus_!"__

The bag floated out and she guided it quickly out the door and down the numerous staircases to the Great Hall, where the teachers looked to her earnestly. The orange cage surrounding Severus was now gone, instead he was encircled in fretting teachers and various other objects Hermione could only guess had been brought on Deb's say-so. 

He was now bare-chested and his trousers had been torn even more to allow access to the wounds. The ghostly shade of his skin seemed a dangerous sign.

"Alright Poppy," Deb declared as she opened her bag and removed a white ceramic bottle, "pour this into the wounds in his arms and legs."

"What is it?" Madame Pomfrey asked, taking it carefully into her hands.

"It's an antidote for the potions used to cause the infection. Severus made both the potion and the antidote. He gave me the latter in case the former was ever used. Now Minerva," she removed a black ceramic bottle and a cloth, "Take this and wipe it on any small abrasion, bite or skin burn."

McGonagall took the bottle and cloth and began her task.

"Hermione," Deb looked up seriously, "you and I are going to check for damaged internal organs."

There was a general outcry from the teachers.

"Now really, she's just a girl…"

"Leave it to one of us…"

"Don't involve her…"

"Isn't there an easier way?"

"Shut up! If you haven't got anything constructive to say don't say a damn thing because I don't want to hear it! We're doing this my way because there is no other way! Even Poppy has allowed me a free rein here, because no one knows how to do this like me, so you can't possibly have anything to say. Hermione, come down here."

Hermione trembled as she knelt down and looked to Deb for instruction.

"Take these gloves, put them on."

Hermione took the rubber gloves and snapped them on. Deb did the same and cast a sterilization spell, which threw everything in the vicinity into a white light for a moment, then disappeared.

"Alright, Hermione," Deb instructed, "I want you to hold the wound open, so I can check if anything's missing or damaged."

Hermione shakily took two edges of the scrappy wound and pulled gently, half out of concern, half out of fear. The teachers standing over her made her even more nervous. It was like an exam.

"No, no," Deb stopped her, "Don't worry, he's unconscious, you can pull harder…you have to pull harder, otherwise I won't be able to get my hand in. Here, watch me do it."

Deb put her hands on both sides and yanked roughly, exposing a plethora of ruddy bulging flesh.

"See?" Deb asked, "Now put your hands where mine are."

Hermione overtook Deb's hands, pulling very hard and fighting to keep it open. There was a surprising amount of resistance against her hands. She had to put some energy into keeping the wound open.

Hermione barely had time to think about it before Deb shoved one gloved hand directly into the wound, her face set in deep concentration. She twisted and squeezed and fiddled for a little while before explaining.

"Everything seems to be here…nothing missing…except an the appendix…don't know why that's not there, not that it matters…anyway…nothing seems seriously damaged internally…just burnt really…everything's been burnt…as though he's been on fire…but on the inside…another of his potions. Nasty stuff."

"What can you do to fix it?" McGonagall asked worriedly.

"Give him the antidote" Deb shrugged as she slipped her bloody hand out of the wound, "Other than that, we really just need to give him time…these are not simple Quidditch wounds…this is the work of the Darkest of Dark Arts. Hermione, you can let go now."

Hermione sighed and released, allowing the flesh to resume its place.

"How's it going Poppy?" Deb asked.

"Alright, I think," she lifted her head from Severus' arm, "The infections have disappeared, but the burns haven't changed."

"No, I didn't expect them to…How about you, Minerva?"

"The cuts are all but gone…as far as I can see."

"Alright, keep rubbing that stuff on the skin…any free skin… they used a skin-freezing curse, so his skin is probably burning. Hopefully the stuff will put him at ease a little."

Hermione didn't think he looked at ease. His was deathly pale…even more so than normal, and pain seemed written all over his face.

"Hermione," Deb called, "There's a blue frosted glass bottle in my bag. I want you to take it out, along with two patches and a cloth. Douse the patched in the stuff in the bottle, put them over his eyes and tie them down with the cloth. Flitwick, go to Severus' quarters and get his pyjamas…or whatever he wears to bed…I've a feeling he won't appreciate being put in any but his own."

"Err…" Flitwick…looked at the ground.

"What is it?" Deb asked irritably as she took out her wand again.

"It's just that," Flitwick began uncomfortably, "I…I don't think….that is to say…I think he sleeps in the nuddy."

Everyone but the subject of conversation snapped their heads to look at him.

"I really don't want to know how you know that" Deb shook her head, "But he still must have a nightshirt somewhere…just find something. It'll be black."

"It's nothing like that," Flitwick pleaded, "I just walked in on him-"

"Don't tell us!" Deb stopped him, "Just do as you're told!"

He skittered out nervously and everyone stared after him.

"That's just not right," Deb said somberly, then turned to Hermione "Go on, take the bottle."

Hermione recalled herself and took out the tools she needed. She began pouring the clear liquid onto the patches, Deb cast a bone-break-search charm. Whole sections of his body lit up in blue.

"Gee," Deb sounded surprised, "They didn't skip a beat, did they. Arms, legs, pelvis, skull, foot, jaw…everything's got a least a crack. Even the disks in his spine got done."

"It must have been a bone-crushing curse." Dumbledore observed.

"Yes…not pleasant…_os__ repare tota corpus."_

The blue light disappeared and some of the bruising seemed to fade. The company of worried teachers seemed to release a united sigh of relief at this.

"Alright," Deb stood up, "Minerva, you can stop now. And I think you can all go to bed too. He'll be alright, he just needs time…and as I recall, you all have classes to take tomorrow, so you'll need your beauty sleep. Off you go…nighty night. Except…Dumbledore, do you think you could bring Fawkes down to the Poppy's office? Severus could use some Phoenix tears."

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore shook his head, "He's in the birth stage. He'll be of no use to you now."

"Damn!" Deb stomped her foot, "Oh, well, off you go then."

She ushered them out of the hall, much to their discontent. They tried to argue with her, but she shut the door, leaving only herself, Hermione and Madame Pomfrey.

"Poppy, go and get a bed ready, we'll close the wounds, draw the bruising down and meet you there. If there's anyone there who doesn't need to be, please don't make them hang around. It would be best if everyone was kept away."

"What about the internal burns?" She asked agitatedly.

"That's work for a potion that we'll administer. Don't worry, leave it to us."

Madame Pomfrey stood up and strode away purposefully, opening the door and checking no one was outside before hurrying away.

Deb moaned, "Gods they are annoying. Tittering like schoolgirls."

"Don't you think they have a right to be worried?" Hermione argued.

"Of course I do," Deb smiled, "But couldn't they worry somewhere else. They should be able to figure out that he'd be alright. The potions and curses they cast on Severus weren't designed to kill. Sure, they were used practically one on top of the other, but wizards' bodies are very durable. Especially one that's been through all this before."

"You've healed him before, haven't you?" Hermione asked, suddenly understanding. Deb nodded. "Every time he's come back like this, he's come back to me. This will be the fourth time. He didn't ever come here because he though it would distress everyone, which it did. But today he had no choice."

"So how can you expect everyone to react as calmly as you did? Even Madame Pomfrey probably hasn't seen wounds like this. She's a school nurse, not an Auror Medi-witch."

"Fighting now will serve no purpose, Hermione. He still isn't out of harm's way."

"You're just backing out, but you're right as well."

"Good," Deb nodded, "Now, you know how to cast an anti-bruising charm, don't you?"

"Yes," Hermione replied.

"Alright, well, you'll get a lot of practice on it now. Anything that's even tinged purple or blue or red, chuck on a charm… Don't take any chances."

Hermione began casting spells everywhere…she stopped counting at thirty. Deb, in the meantime, was neatly sealing the gashes, leaving incredibly thin scars for such massive injuries.

It was probably twenty minutes before they'd both finished, but when they had, Hermione noticed, Severus looked…calmer. His face was no longer construed in pain and his color had returned, if only a little.

"Okay," Deb prompted, "Hermione, there's a green frosted glass bottle in the bag. Please to give it me…yes?"

Hermione crawled back to the bag and searched out the next bottle. She gave it to Deb who set it down and nodded to Hermione.

"Right," She said, "We'll need to sit him up straight."

They both took a shoulder and pulled him up. His head lolled back to an uncomfortable level, so Deb supported it to make it sit normally.

"I need you to open his mouth." Deb instructed.

Hermione felt very awkward touching her teacher's face. When she'd put the patches on his eyes she'd done her best not to touch him, but now she had to…

She carefully pulled on his jaw and his mouth opened a tiny crack.

"Oh for gods' sakes, Hermione, he's not made of glass! Open his mouth!"

Hermione steeled herself and pulled harder.

"Much better," Deb smiled, and poured the bottle's contents into his mouth and massaged his throat, which Hermione recognized, was done to encourage swallowing.

"How long does the potion take to work?" Hermione asked, still holding her teacher straight.

"Considering the extent of his injury, probably about twelve hours. Definitely not in time for his lessons. I think we can take him upstairs now. _Mobilicorpus__."___

The body of Hermione's unconscious teacher floated in the air and Deb directed him towards the door.

"You can go to bed if you want, you know." Deb told her.

"No…It's alright…I'll stay."

It was a silent mutual agreement that they'd both stay with him. Neither of them said anything, they just sat down beside his bed and waited…watched. Madame Pomfrey came and told them to go to bed, but Deb insisted they stay, and so they did. She conjured up six Butterbeers to last them through the night, and they both began sucking away at one each. The conversation was sparse, a sort of reassurance that the other party wasn't falling asleep.

"What do you think they did to him?" Hermione asked curiously.

"There are plenty of things they could have done that could escape detection, but what I can see is very obvious. I'm sure they used Crucio, because Voldie just loves it. But otherwise a bone-crushing, skin-freezing and paralysis curses. Infection potions, that burning potion, something Severus called the blood-eye potion, which is what swelled and bloodied his eyes, which you treated. I imagine the huge gash in his stomach was so that someone could just shove their hands in for sheer pain's sake. The only other things that are visible are that somebody, probably not one person, beat him very severely. But I think they must have dumped him in the forbidden forest, so he also got attacked by animals there. Oh, and the fingernails were torn off."

"Why did they do that?" Hermione asked disgustedly.

"Because it's a very effective method of torture. There's no doubt Crucio is the simplest and cleanest way of torturing someone, but there are people, especially in Voldemort's circle, who like actually seeing the pain. Fingertips are very good because the sensory neurons are gathered close together there, so it's very painful."

"It's revolting."

"To a clear thinking mind, yes, it's horrifying. But these are not clear thinkers we're talking about. The people we're talking about are irrational. They see the torture as beautiful."

There was a silence for Hermione to come to terms with this idea, until the question burbled up again.

"How do you…not feel sick looking at him when…"

"When he looks one step away from minced meat?" Deb nodded in understanding as she lifted her bottle to her lips, "I know, it's repulsive. I remember the first time he came to me I was still in medical school. He fell on my doorstep and I had to mix what I had of Muggle and magical medicine to heal him. I could barely look at him let alone fix him. Then the second time I was a little older, just out of medical school. It was still a shock, but I knew what to do. Third time was less of a shock, and now I just get on and do it. Tearing my hair out won't help. Nor will throwing up in his open wounds. Just got to take the boggart by the horns and deal with it."

"You're very brave." Hermione smiled wearily, taking a gulp of her Butterbeer.

"No more than you," Deb retorted, "You were shocked at first, but a soon as I called you, that was it, you started moving. That's something to be proud of, Hermione. Now, I think I want something a little stronger than this. I think the occasion calls for it, don't you?"

Deb pointed her wand at a nearby table and a bottle of Bradley Bunting's Back-burning Bourbon appeared with two glasses.

"Deb, it's a school night!" Hermione said indignantly.

"Oh yes," Deb said sarcastically as she poured, "And an ordinary one at that! Take the damn bourbon, girl. You can nick some pepper-up potion from Madame Pomfrey's stocks if you think you'll get a hangover."

Hermione took the glass nervously and sipped it. She did like it, her father had been giving it to her since she was eight, so it was no shock to her system, but she was genuinely concerned for tomorrow's lessons.

"Don't worry," Deb smiled, "I've a feeling you won't be going to lessons tomorrow."


	9. History Repeating

Author's note: Firstly, the fingernails being torn off was a torture method used on Chanah Senesh, a Hungarian Jewish spy working for British forces during world war two. She was caught in Hungary, imprisoned and regularly tortured for information regarding the movement of the British. She was put to death by firing squad near the end of the war.

Secondly, if anyone was wondering, the devil's Inkpots are real…visited them myself.

Thirdly, I've also been informed that there are those who want to be informed by email when I post a new chapter. 'sall good with me, but I don't have the extra feature thingies with fanfiction.net. So if you want an email when I update, send me one at jane_wilde@hotmail.com with subject line 'Puppetry of the Heinous' and I'll make sure you get an email ASAP after I update. Everyone will get an individual one, I won't disclose email addresses to anyone. My word as a Slytherin on that. Deadredsocks, you'll be first in line, considering you brought it to my attention.

Fourthly, I'm sorry it took so long, I had much to do and less time to do it in, but now I have two weeks off, with much work to do, but I'll make time for this. I'm a bit nervous about this chapter, I think it's very bad, but hell, I'd never post it if I don't do it now.

And, as usual, all reviews are welcome. I love hearing everything everyone has to say. I never get tired of it. Never! J

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to she who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling. All thanks to her and my computer.

**Chapter 9 – History Repeating**

At some point, Hermione was not sure when, she had fallen asleep at Snape's bedside. It was by far not the most restful slumber, nor was it comfortable, and when she woke she had something of a hangover to compound the bad sleeping.

"Rise and shine, Hermo-ine!" Deb shook her lightly, even though it felt she'd smacked her across the face.

"What time is it?" Hermione asked groggily, attempting to sit up.

"I believe it is seven-thirty in the ante-meridian, my dear." Deb handed her a goblet of something that was steaming slightly. "Drink this; it'll wake you up a bit. The faster you drink, the better chance you have of avoiding the nasty headache that's on it's way."

Hermione took it cautiously and gulped it down. Her vision almost instantly sharpened and she felt wide awake. She looked to the bed in which the pale form of her teacher still slept, an IV tube extending from an exposed arm.

"How is he?" She asked.

"How does he look?" Deb asked back.

Hermione looked closer. His color seemed to have returned and there was nothing left of the horrendous injuries she'd seen yesterday.

"He looks…normal…except that he's sleeping."

"Exactly." Deb smiled, "I've checked all the usual things…blood pressure, temperature, white blood cell count, all that stuff. It's all normal. No broken bones, nails all firmly replaced on his fingers, all traces of the burning potion gone. I put in a drip last night 'cause I think he's probably very low on energy, which is fair enough. Madame Pomfrey wasn't too happy though. Anyway, all he needs now is good old fashioned rest. I think he'll wake some time this evening, and about time too, because we need to keep up with rehearsals. Want some breakfast?"

 "Oh…yes, thank you."

Deb waved her wand and a fantastically large platter of scrambled eggs, orange juice, porridge toast, muffins, pancakes, maple syrup, jam and butter presented itself.

"I can't eat all that," Hermione contended.

"I don't expect you to," Deb retorted, "I just woke up too, you know. And it's not like anyone can stop the house elves when they're on a cooking rampage."

Hermione took a plate and buttered some toast, while Deb piled up six pancakes on her plate.

"Hungry, are you?" Hermione chuckled.

"Not particularly," Deb grinned back, "But if you're not going to eat it, I shall do my best to eat your share, see?" She pointed to the pancakes, "Three for me and three for you."

"But I wouldn't eat three," Hermione countered, "I'd be hard pressed to eat two."

"Alright, so three for me, two for you, and one for our sweet sleeping Severus…all of which I get to eat anyway."

"Is there any point arguing with you?" Hermione asked wearily.

"No," Deb said thoughtfully as she shoved a large piece of pancake into her mouth, "I don't think so."

They ate in silence for a little while, the third party completely unmoving - though somehow comforting – kept them company. When they set their plates down, Deb stood up to check the IV.

"Am I going to classes today?"

"Sadly, no," Deb said, not sounding at all upset, "I'm afraid you cannot return to class until Severus wakes."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, taking a sip of her orange juice.

"Because _I_ need to teach classes, so _you have to stay here. Don't worry. The teachers know."_

"What do you mean?" Hermione whined indignantly, "Can't Madame Pomfrey take care of him? She's the school nurse after all."

"That's exactly why you're staying here." Deb returned to her seat, "She can't be expected to sit by his bedside all day, check his IV, temperature, blood pressure, and all that. But most of all, you have to stay so that if he wakes you can call me back here immediately."

"But…I don't know how to do all those things. Blood pressure, and those things." Hermione was now worried. Deb was going to leave him in her care. What if she messed it up?

"Don't worry, Hermione," Deb cooed, "It's simple. If the IV looks like it's emptying, you use a simple refilling spell. Temperature is simple, you just use the thermometer. If it comes up with anything more than feverish, call me. Blood pressure is also simple because I've got this great new sphygmomanometer that does the measuring for you." Deb got up and removed a rectangular metal box. It opened to reveal a very normal looking blood pressure meter…which was apparently called a sphygmomanometer, only it had a digital screen. Deb removed the band with the tube and the pump and wrapped it around Hermione's arm. "See, you pump it up like this…and when the band it pumped up enough, the number will pop up. If it's anything over 140 over 90, again, call me. So you check all those things every two hours, and otherwise you can just sit here and do homework or reading or whatever tickles your fancy. Simple as that."

Hermione was very concerned… she didn't know what to say.

"What if his IV needle falls out?"

Deb laughed very heartily at that, and began to usher Hermione to the door.

"The needle isn't going anywhere, Hermione. Now go and get any books you want to read while you're down here, may I suggest the My Fair Lady script, and hurry back. I have classes to prepare."

Hermione ran up to the common room and popped through the portrait hole, where Harry and Ron barreled toward her.

"Hermione! Where were you!" Ron asked, sounding almost pathetically like his mother, "We were so worried when we couldn't find you in the common room last night."

"We thought you'd been hurt," Harry admonished calmly.

"I'm alright," she said bracingly, "I was just helping Professor Daniels tend to Professor Snape."

"You didn't!" Ron said in a whisper, "Do you know what happened to him?"

"Of course I know what happened to him," she walked towards the staircase to the girls' dormitories, "But I'm not telling you."

"Why not?" Harry complained.

"Because it's his place to tell you, not mine. If he wanted you to know, he'll tell you."

"But you know he won't tell us," Ron whined as she walked up the first few steps. Hermione rounded on them and snapped.

"Then I definitely won't tell you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and get my homework."

She stormed up the steps.

"Homework," Ron asked, "Why would she be doing homework now?"

Harry shrugged, "Maybe because she didn't do it last night."

"But she has to go to class now." Ron moaned.

"Or maybe she doesn't," Harry suggested.

"What do you mean? She can't miss any more classes… she'd have a nervous breakdown."

"Ron," Hermione shook her head as she came back down the stairs, books and scrolls piled in her arms, "For your information, I'm not going to classes today because I have to stay with Snape. Deb asked me to…or really she told me to, because she has to take classes."

They followed her toward the portrait hole again.

"But that's not fair," Ron said hotly, and looking uncannily like a child, "You don't even want to go to class. Why do I have to go?"

It was fascinating to Hermione that he'd failed to grow up somehow. She rolled her eyes at him and snapped.

"Well, if you're so determined to miss class, you don't have potions today. But, if you'd prefer, _you_ can sit at Professor Snape's bedside and take his temperature every two hours."

"Is it that bad?" Harry asked somberly.

"It _was_ that bad," Hermione nodded, "But now he just needs rest, and someone needs to make sure nothing goes wrong, which is why I'm going."

"We'll come and keep you company during lunch and potions, won't we, Ron?" Harry nudged the sulky redhead.

"No, Harry," Hermione stopped him, "No one's allowed in. Don't worry about me. Just go and practice Quidditch in the break. And Ron, why don't you concentrate on growing up!" 

Hermione slipped out of the portrait hole, leaving a very indignant Ron and a very amused Harry.

Hermione sat with her unconscious teacher all day, except at lunchtime, when Deb came in for an hour so Hermione could go to the Great Hall to eat lunch. At first she'd felt very awkward as she sat at his bedside, alone. She could understand why she was the best choice to watch him, being the only one who knew what needed to be done and didn't have to teach lessons. But it still wasn't normal. Nor was it entirely appropriate. Her parents certainly wouldn't have approved.

Some part of her wanted to slap herself for even thinking that. _Who cares what your parents think, girl? Don't you think this is slightly out of their depth?_

She got a shock thinking that too. It sounded like he was in her head, becoming her bad conscience._ Not a good sign, Hermione, not a good sign._

She also had the feeling he was watching her. Like through his eyelids his eyes were watching her, and he was waiting for the perfect moment to grab her wrist and scare her to death. Was that it? No, that was just an overactive imagination. What was more disconcerting was that he was just watching.

Nevertheless, she eventually got used to it. She got over the feeling that Severus might just spring out of his coma as soon as she delved deeply into her work, and got a considerable amount of homework done. 

It was dinnertime before Hermione saw another conscious soul. Deb popped in to check on her patient and the nurse.

"Hermione!" Deb said in mock-shock, her hand dramatically laid on her chest, "You're both alive! You didn't kill him!"

Hermione gave her a dark look as she shut her copy of _Most Potente Potions._

"I of course I didn't kill him," she murmured, "I never said I would."

Deb smiled warmly, "Just kidding, calm down. So I presume everything's under control here?"

"Everything's fine. He hasn't moved though."

"Neither would you if you were in his place." Deb straightened the bedclothes, "Oh, look how cute he is, sleeping in bed like a tiny bébé. He doesn't look half as nasty when he hasn't got his face in a nasty scowl."

Hermione looked at him. Deb was right, surprise, surprise. He was still pale and gaunt and framed by the long tresses of black around his face, but he no longer looked like…the bastard every student knew.

"He looks…sort of…normal," Hermione said awkwardly.

"I wouldn't go _that_ far," Deb reasonably, "But he does look nicer…More pleasant. Anyway, I imagine you're a tad hungry, so you're going to come to the Great Hall with me for dinner." Deb pulled her out of her seat.

"What if he wakes?" Hermione waved in the bed's direction.

"I'm about to cast a sleeping spell on him, so by the time we get back and cast the waking spell, he'll actually wake. _Somnio__!_" Deb pointed nonchalantly towards Snape, and began pushing Hermione out the door.

"Get any quality work done?" Deb asked, a benign grin on her face.

"Yes, actually," Hermione said amicably as they walked their way down to the Hall, "Quite a bit of reading and summarizing."

"Well then, the day wasn't such a waste after all. Just before we go back down after dinner, I'll bring you the list of homework you've got."

They reached the hall rather quickly, Hermione found Deb's pace was rather fast. She was slightly out of breath when they reached the door. 

"Right," Deb looked to her, "You go in first, I'll go after. The last thing we need is for any loyal Slytherin to see you in contact with me. I took one hundred points from Malfoy today for talking to Crabbe while everyone was working."

"You didn't!" Hermione whispered, half in shock, half in admiring awe.

"I did," Deb confirmed pleasantly, "After all, when Severus wakes up, he'll give enough to Slytherin and take from Gryffindor enough to make up for it, I think. Now, go, and when I nod to you, that means come back outside, alrighty?"

"Okay," Hermione walked calmly into the Hall, and noticed there was a very subdued air around her. Conversations were fairly subdued, and Hermione had feeling that it had something to do with the Potions Master falling on the doorstep on the brink of death She also suddenly felt people were watching her, people in her year. No doubt her absence had not gone unnoticed…_no one there to answer the questions, she thought cynically__. She tried to ignore the unpleasant feeling and strolled over to the Gryffindor table and sat down beside Ginny._

"Hi, Ginny," Hermione greeted her cheerily.

Ginny eyed her suspiciously. "Hello…" She replied warily.

"What?" Hermione asked, "What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Nothing," Ginny replied, looking very much like there was something.

"Good, then I suppose you'll _stop_ looking at me like that at some point?"

Ginny took a deep breath and turned to talk to Colin Creevey. Just as she did, Harry and Ron slid into the seats on her other sides.

"Hello, Ron, how was school?" she gloated.

"Fine," Ron murmured through his teeth.

"Don't mind him," Harry said offhandedly, "He's still smarting from this morning when you told him to grow up. We missed you."

"Why? Did you actually have to answer a question for yourself?" As soon as it came out of her mouth, she realized she was being a bit harsh. Harry looked quite taken aback, though not altogether upset.

"Wow, Hermione," he chuckled, "That time of the month, then, is it?"

Before Hermione had time to respond or realise that she probably deserved that, the plates and bowls filled with the usual dinner feast. 

"So, what did you do during your free Potions double?" Hermione asked the boys. 

"Went to the Quidditch pitch of course," Harry replied, chewing on a chicken wing.

"How's the new broomstick, Ron?" Hermione knew he'd respond to that, even if it meant abandoning his angry scowl. He'd been delighted by a belated birthday present last year, given on their last day of the school year. Harry, Hermione, Seamus, Neville, Remus, Sirius, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George and Ginny had put in to give him a top-of-the-line keeper broomstick, a Mercury six. They also told him he wouldn't be getting a Christmas present…from any of them.

"Oh, it's fantastic…perfect for a keeper…like it knows exactly what to do before you even know yourself! It's fast, and quick, but strong too…different to Harry's Phantom, but just what a keeper needs…and the best present ever!"

Hermione smiled as Harry gave Ron a 'you're welcome' thump on the back. Harry's beloved Firebolt had suffered irreparable damage after an interesting approach to attacking Voldemort. In Harry's eyes, his beloved broomstick should have been awarded a medal.

"So, Hermione," Ron shuffled mashed potatoes onto his fork, "Are you at liberty to tell us whether Snape is going to be alright or not?"

"I think so," She shrugged, "He'll definitely be alright, the injuries have all healed.

Ron winced.

"Damn, I haven't done that essay." He clicked his fingers regretfully.

"Well, you have all night to do it," Hermione replied tartly, "I think he'll be in class again tomorrow."

"Ah," Harry nodded somberly, "Back to torture me for being me. Mum, Dad, give me the strength to not give in to temptation and tear his bloody nose of his face."

"Do you think he's really doing it just for the sake of doing it?" Hermione asked thoughtfully.

"No," Harry replied, "I think he enjoys it too."

"Do you think so?"

"To the very centre of my being," Harry said, squinting angrily, "I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me…he likes to watch me _squirm under his gaze like a field mouse under the claws of a hawk!"_

"Did you ever think that maybe he was doing it to…_help you?"_

The two looked at her blankly for a moment, then burst into hysterical laughter.

"…help us," Ron thumped the table, "oh, thanks Hermione, I haven't laughed so hard in ages!"

First and second courses disappeared quickly to make room for desserts, of which there seemed to be extra. Lots of extra… enough to feed the school twice over again. This was proved in the fact that, by the time even Crabbe and Goyle had stopped eating, there was still half as much left as there was to begin with.

And this seemed to be Dumbledore's cue to stand up.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he smiled his bright-eyed smile, "Your Defense against the Dark Arts teacher proposed an idea to me this morning, as a way of lifting school spirits in light of recent events. I'd like to remind all students before we begin that this is in the interest of natural and healthy amusement and entertainment, so make the most of it, because I most definitely cannot promise another situation in which I would agree to this. So, without further ado, I shall hand over to Professor Daniels."

_Oh Gods, what's she cooking up this time…_ Hermione was afraid…very afraid.

Deb rose from her chair, then stood on it, then on the faculty table. She removed her trademark coat, and her elaborate tattoos were bared for all the school to see, which causes a great rumble of whispers across the tables. Deb took no notice as she threw her coat to the floor, picked up a bowl of jelly and a cream pie.

_Oh in Merlin's name, she'd better not be doing what I think she is…_

Deb walked to the middle of the table where Dumbledore sat, cleared her throat, bent down and…

SPLAT!

The cream pie hit Dumbledore directly in the face.

There was a definite, confused, bemused silence…then, somewhere, a grand and sparkling penny dropped, and grins jumped onto faces everywhere.

Deb looked at her tub of jelly, then to the eager faces of the students, waiting for her to sound the call. She cupped a wobbling mound of jelly in her hand and…

"FOOD FIGHT!!!!!"

The hall erupted into a culinary tempest. Custard, jelly, pies, tarts, ice cream, Bertie Botts, cauldron cakes, chocolate frogs, millions and squillions and chocolate sauce all rained down from every side. Everything from students to teachers to walls and floors was splattered with dessert. Screams and yelps of excited pleasure rang through the hall, and probably the whole school. 

It wasn't until Ron himself poured chocolate sauce right on Hermione's head that she even registered what was going on. But Ron got a cream pie right in the kisser for that performance…and Harry too, for his reference to her time of the month. But he responded with his typical Seeker speed by pouring a jar of millions and squillions through her thick, impenetrable head of hair.

Just as she'd recovered from the shock, there was a great shout from the staff table. Deb jumped onto the Ravenclaw table.

"PLUVIO FLAGRA LACRETUM!" She shouted, and instantly the arched ceiling seemed to be raining down whipped cream from absolutely nowhere. Everyone from Hagrid down to the tiniest first year got drenched in whipped cream. In response to the heavenly assault, every student ladled up handfuls of the cream-rain and hurled them in Deb's direction. Hermione had a feeling Deb was entirely expecting that, as she ran down each table and jumped from one to another, giving every student an opportunity to plaster her with cream… which they did very eagerly. He white blotches cascaded down upon her, eventually coating her so thickly, there wasn't a speck of bare skin showing. She leapt onto Gryffindor table and sprinted down it, cream splattering everywhere. And, for a split-second, she nodded to Hermione. Had Hermione blinked, she would have missed it. But miss it she did not, so she obediently rose and slunk out of the hall while everyone was too hysterical to notice.

As she stood in the entrance hall dripping with assorted desserts, she distinctly heard Deb call out, "Let's get Dumbledore!" which was followed soon after by screams of delight and Deb running out, spattering the floor with ruined dessert. Hermione hated to think what Filch would do.

"Now how was that for a pick-me-up?" She asked through a cheeky grin.

"There are more discrete things you could have done." Hermione crossed her arms.

"But nothing more fun!" Deb winked, "_Purgare_!"__

They were magically cleaned, not a speck of dessert to be seen, including on Filch's precious floor.

"Now, let us depart for the infirmary," Deb nodded her head up the stairs, "I believe our patient is waiting."

Indeed he was. In exactly the same place they'd left him, not a centimeter out of place.

"How can he not be moving?" Hermione asked. If he's just asleep, surely he would have moved."

"No, not necessarily. Depends what kind of sleeper he is, and he's a very heavy sleeper. He's also a great believer in, 'if something's worth doing, it's worth doing right,' so if he's going to stay still, he does it bloody well. _Excitare__!_"

The cold black eyes flickered open, darting around, taking in his environment, his body as still as it had been when he was unconscious. It seemed he dare not move until he knew where he was.

"It's alright, Severus," Deb said quietly, "Hogwarts." Hermione was surprised by how quiet and calm Deb was. Only minutes before, she'd seen her ram a pie in Dumbledore's face. And now she was calmly sitting at the edge of Severus' bed with the same simple benevolence Dumbledore exuded. It was astounding.

Severus closed his eyes and sighed. Hermione couldn't decide if it was relief or disappointment or regret. Did he want to be back? Did he want to be dead? Did he want to be wherever the Death Eaters were, to prove to them that he'd survived?

"That was quite a set of injuries you came home with, Severus," Deb checked his drip momentarily, "You'd have had less from fighting a dragon bare-handed."

"Bodily injuries are inconsequential," He lifted himself to sit leaning against the headboard of the bed, "what you should worry about is if they got far enough into my head."

"Did they?" Deb asked mildly. 

"They did not," he looked deep into her eyes, "But they were so close…"

He looked away and shook his head.

"…so close."

"You measure yourself by how far they managed to get." Deb said softly "Perhaps you should measure yourself by how far they didn't get, or how long you held on for. No one else alive today could have sustained those wounds and have lived to tell the tale."

"An ill-gotten ability," he said sorrowfully, "I do not deserve it."

"Yes you do," Hermione said quietly.

Severus snapped his head around to look at her, as if he'd only just realized she was there.

"What makes you think so?" it was not cruel or caustic, but full of doubt resentment, more of himself than of her. She took a deep breath and crossed her arms.

"I don't think it'll come as a great shock to you that before this year, I thought, like every other non-Slytherin student in the school, that you were a nasty bastard. I would've believed it this year too, had it not been for Deb's intervention. You're not nasty for no reason, I've learned that, and I'm sure you have a reason for treating Harry like a--" Hermione rethought her words, "The way that you do, even if you don't say it. You're not a bastard…at least not when you don't want to be. I don't know anything for sure, but I think you've got what you've got for a reason."

"Do you think I deserve to live after—"

"I'm not even going to let you finish that question," Deb cut him off, "You ask me that enough, don't start asking her…and no, my answer hasn't changed, and I'm sure her answer is the same as mine."

"Let her speak, Deborah." He narrowed his eyes at Deb.

"There's no need."

"Let her speak if she wants," he repeated.

"What for?"

"_Let Her Speak."_

Deb threw her arms up as she strode away from the bed, throwing her arms up in exasperation. Hermione furrowed her brow and tried to work out why he wanted to hear what she had to say. He never wanted to hear what she had to say. What on earth was going on? Oh, it was far too hard to know what was going on now."

"Well, Hermione," He turned to her again, his calculating eyes resting on hers, "do you think I deserve to live after _everything_ I've done?"

"I certainly don't think you deserve to die! I think that, thanks to Deb, I have to consider you one of my…friends. There's no real word for it, but that's the closest. You are a friend, I think, and I don't want a friend of mine to die. Even one who called me a stupid impertinent little girl. I'm no longer a little girl, I'm _never was _impertinent and I'm most certainly_ never was_ stupid."

Deb applauded from the corner she'd inhabited and sat in the seat beside Hermione.

"I shall remember this. The Head Girl and Model Student calls the Ex-Death Eater her Friend. Ah, the world is a fine place. Now, Severus, I think you know what I want to know. I'd be much obliged if you told me."

"He's expecting the potion the night all students return from holidays. He plans to attack Hogwarts so he can kill Harry and watch me kill Albus."

"Ah, but I've already thought of a plan to counteract his plan. I cleared it with Dumbledore and I've already hired the services of a Diablé to get us what we need.

"You trusted a Diablé with this?"

"Excuse me," Hermione interrupted meekly, "What's a Diablé?"

"A very secretive creature," Deb explained, "that kidnaps children, primarily to eat them, but will kidnap anyone for money. They also like bright and shiny things like jewels, so they buy jewels and eat children. And Severus, to answer your question, I think I'd trust a Diablé before I trusted any human with this. I've promised him a hefty payout if he does as I ask. He's crafty, clever, silent and less likely to be traced back to us."

"What if he talks?"

"He has no tongue. He won't talk, but he'll get us what we need."

"And what do we need that a Diablé could possibly get for us?" Severus was ever the skeptic.

"Children. More specifically the children of Death Eaters, More specifically, the young and impressionable ones who will be susceptible to mind games."

"You're going to use their children?" He asked disgustedly.

"You've got a better plan?" Deb crossed her arms defensively.

"No, but that…that's amoral!"

Deb burst into laughter, slapping her thigh hysterically. When her fit died down she sighed and wiped her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I could've sworn you just said, 'that's amoral.'"

"I did," Severus looked at her darkly.

Deb burst into laughter again, nearly falling off her seat.

"Severus, we're fighting the Death Eaters. They kill families, actually, come to think of it, they killed mine…and Harry's…and they damn near killed Neville's. Isn't it only fair that I should turn their children against them? Especially Draco. I've already started work on him."

"What have you done?" Severus snarled at her.

"I kept him back after class, asked him how he was feeling, whether he was happy, that's all."

"What exactly is that supposed to achieve?"

"Tut, tut," Deb looked at him condescendingly, "you cannot figure it out yourself? I'm planting the seed. I've got all of the coming months to work on him and make him fand of me.

This time it was Hermione's turn to laugh hysterically. She decided very consciously, to give Deb some of her own medicine.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I could've sworn you just said you'd make Draco Malfoy fond of you."

"I did," Deb smiled at her.

Hermione burbled with laughter again, doubling up to increase effect.

"Deb, that boy isn't _fond_ of his mother…come to think of it, I'd wager she isn't _fond of him either."_

"And that, Hermione, is exactly the point. _I'd_ wager none of the Death Eaters give a shrivel fig about what happens to their kids. That's exactly what we'll use against them. Their loyalty to Voldemort will end up being their undoing."

"How do you propose we go about that?" Hermione asked, probably about as doubtful as Severus.

Deb rose to her feet and played out the whole event.

"When they come to attack us here, bounding into the great hall, wands drawn and pointed at the enemy, they'll find their children standing between them and their targets. If the fates are at all with us, Voldemort will recognize what we've done and hold off. Then, these kids will all stand there, basically human shields, and I'll say, if you kill your children, you can have Dumbledore and Harry on a silver platter, no questions asked. If not you'll have to fight. They'll choose Voldemort and their children will choose us."

"Deb," Hermione said warningly, "Severus is right. That's wrong."

"What makes you say that?"

"You can't use their children like that. That's not right." Hermione remained firm.

"I'm not going to make any child stand up there if they don't want to, but chances are, they'll want to. These kids will be in such a state of doubt about whether their parents love them or not that they'll want to put their parents on the spot, see what happens."

"But you'll be the one who makes them doubt." Hermione began.

"You're the one who'll have put them in that mindset, wanting to know." Severus finished.

"And what's wrong with that?" Deb asked.

Neither had an answer. Was there anything wrong with making them doubt? Didn't every child come to a point where they questioned their parents' love for them? So this doubt wasn't naturally induced, did that make it bad?

"Ah ha," Deb nodded victoriously, "Game, Set, Match, Daniels. My way, Lady and Gentleman, My way or the highway."

"Alright, woman," Severus waved his hand irritably, "We'll do it your way, but I have something more to tell you, something very grave. Hermione, if you wouldn't mind excusing us for a moment."

Hermione stood to leave, but Deb put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her down again.

"Whatever it is, she can stay."

"But it concerns her very closely, and I think you should know first, so we can—"

"Whatever it is Severus, if it concerns her, she should probably find out _before me, but seeing as though we're both here, we'll both find out."_

Severus shook his head and sighed.

"Very well," he turned to Hermione, his eyes pouring out a sadness and gravity Hermione had never before seen.

"Hermione, Lucius Malfoy kidnapped your parents. The night they tortured me, the final act of entertainment for the night was to end their lives."

Hermione didn't understand.

"What?"

"Your parents. They have been murdered."

Hermione didn't understand. She looked everywhere for a reason, to Deb, to Severus, to the walls, the beds, the chairs, the windows…

But there wasn't an answer to be had.

"Why?" she pleaded to him, "Why?"

"The Dark Lord…he…he decreed that they would be the first to die as a symbol of his new rule. Harry and Albus will be next, and then….and then it will be you."

"Why?" She asked again.

"I don't know," He said sadly, "I don't know."

Hermione felt only a furious incomprehension. _He knows why. He must know why. Why won't he tell me why?_ She burst forward and flung her arms at him, trying to make him answer.

"Why! Why! WHY?"

Deb firmly but gently drew her away from her target. Hermione only threw herself more furiously at him and his mournful, pitying, mocking eyes, But Deb was too strong, taking her further from her target as she tried to calm Hermione.

"Hermione, shhhh, it's alright….shhh," Hermione fought with all the fury she could muster, all the fury that could hold her away from her true emotion. But she couldn't hold on. The rage broke, swept away by an explosive grief that tore through her and weakened her body, so much so that her legs failed to support her any longer.

But Deb was quick, shifting from drawing her back to keeping her upright, and then moving her to sit on the bed. Hermione curled herself over, tears silently finding their way down her cheeks, two sets of eyes watching her in unspoken concern. She was quickly gathered up in Deb arms and hugged tightly, which only augmented her sorrow by reminding her of her mother. She cried for her mother, her mother who didn't understand her, but strove to nonetheless. Her mother, who was everything, a huge force in her life, and was now replaced with a tremendous vacuum.

She then felt Severus' hand on her left shoulder, which would've been a kind gesture, were it not the very kind gesture her father used for her too. That sent her over the edge. She erupted into maddened weeping for her father, who'd taught her to strive for knowledge above all other things in life, to look for the answer, to find a solution to every problem. 

There were no solutions now.


	10. The Burden we Bear

Author's Note: Ok everyone… Chapter 10.  I'm genuinely sorry it took so long, but I can honestly tell you I was not just sitting around doing nothing and neglecting the story, leaving Hermione wallowing in her grief. I did actually do other things.

I'm aware it's short, but I didn't want to drag it out too much it's hard going as it is if you ask me, and that's not what it was intended to be.

Thankyou to everyone who reviewed and I'm utterly shocked and grateful I haven't been flamed.

Please enjoy and fear not, the next chapter is on it's way.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to she who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling. All thanks to her and my computer.

**Chapter 10 – The Burden we Bear**

It was a long, solemn walk from the Hospital Wing that evening. Hermione was walking, subtly supported by Snape and Deb, in the direction of Deb's quarters.  She said nothing, did nothing, but walked. Until they stepped through the doorway, at which point she collapsed onto the floor and began to weep silently, her whole body heaving in heavy breaths. Deb warded her rooms and locked the door very solidly while Snape lifted Hermione from the floor and carried her to the spare room. Deb rushed past to open the bed, in which the girl was laid gently, despite her mute tears. There they left her and closed the door to darkness.

"She's not taking it well," Severus said somberly.

Deb laughed bitterly, "You noticed? And anyway, can you blame her? Need I remind you of how it happened last time?"

"Not really," he shrugged.

"She still needs time. Let her alone for a little, to really come to grips with it, then we slap her around a bit until she's can come back to reality."

"What exactly do you mean by 'slap her around'?"

"Once, long time ago, I told you something about what I wished somebody would've done for me two weeks after my family died. Remember?"

"I remember what you said, but  you're not going to do that…please tell me you're not going to do that…oh for heaven's sake Deborah, you can't possibly want to do that!"

"I do Severus, I think it's the best thing I could ever do for her, far beyond any education I could give her."

"It's too early. Give her time to grieve." Severus pleaded.

"No." Deb said curtly. "She will have the time afterwards. I'd rather she be dazed and confused than depressed and suicidal."

A large bottle scuttled out of the nearby cabinet, quickly followed by two shot-glasses. In a spectacular show of athletics, the glasses leapt into the hands of the present company, while the bottle levitated itself, poured a drink for the guest and then for the host.

"Genius Deb…charm the alcohol so---"

"So even if I'm too drunk to pour my own drink, the bottle will keep going."

"What if it runs out?"

"It refills itself from a storage keg I have in the cupboard."

"You are the quintessential drinking witch."

"I like to think so."

The evening slid past in a haze of drunken stupor, the evening mellowing into night, night pouring into morning, morning crushing into…

"Headache…" Severus groaned as he gingerly climbed out of his seat and groped about for the support of a stable object.

Deb caught him and thrust a goblet of the same steamy liquid she'd given to Hermione some time ago.

"It's Essence of Heliotrope and Mongoose foot…the quintessential drinking witch's second favorite drink."

Severus took the goblet and threw it down his throat, not caring much for the grotesque sweetness of it. His headache evaporated and he gained control of his balance, allowing him to stand unsupported.

"Sleep well?" Deb asked.

"Like the dead." He answered.

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

Suddenly a frail whimper and thud from Hermione's room. They look immediately to the door, then to each other, then burst through the door.

Unconscious Hermione was on the floor in a heap, one arm flung out to the side exposing one bleeding wrist forming a small pool of blood on the floor. Severus scooped her up and replaced her on the bed after simply healing the modest slit. He noticed something glinting in her other hand. He pried from her cold fingers a razorblade. 

"Why on earth do you have a razor in here?"

"I don't, she must have used magic to make something sharp."

"How? I've got her wand."

"Force of will Severus, she must really want to die."

They sat down on either side of her and looked down at her deathly face.

"Should we wake her?" Severus asked.

"No, she'll want to stay in a world of dreams for as long as she can. She doesn't really want to see us now, but we ought to be here when she wakes anyway."

"Why?"

"Because she'll try again if we're not. And she needs to be reminded that she belongs in reality…and that she should be alive."

"Is that how you felt?"

"I wished someone had been there every morning to wake me up…made me want to live. It was like losing a limb. You don't realize how much you loved it and needed it until it's gone. Feel's like you'll never be able to do the same things again."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She laughed hollowly. "Severus, what would you…what _could you have done to help. You had enough on your turncoat plate to be getting along with. It was my problem. I was the one who didn't have friends. I was the one who had to bear the brunt of it."_

"What about Dumbledore?"

"He also had enough on his plate. Look Severus, it's long gone now, not worth talking about."

"I think it is." He said quietly.

"Why?"

"Because I don't think it's long gone. I think you spend every day thinking about it. I think it's very much alive in your mind."

"You're right. You're absolutely right," She threw her hands in the air, "What do you want me to tell you, Severus? You want me to tell you all about it? Alright, I'll tell you." She leapt off the bed. "I think about it every day, and if I'm lucky enough not to think about it, I have nightmares about it at night. Every thought and action I carry out is a direct result of the stream of thought that was created by the destruction of my family. It's an all-pervading force in me, Severus. And what hurts me the most is that a crazy, power monger with a bad case of inferiority complex could tear my life to such tiny shreds that I am unable to fix it. My mind is so tortured by him that I can't move on. My entire life is a response to what he did to me. _And I can't do ANYTHING about it._ Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes, but I think you wanted to say it more than I wanted to hear it."

Deb slowly sat down.

"No, Severus, I didn't want to say it. Opening up old wounds...literally tearing the flesh. I've survived for so long without saying anything.  Now…well, it's going to be right there at the surface."

"What about when Voldemort is gone?" Severus suggested.

"By the laws of psychoanalysis that should offer me release from this cycle, but let's not get our hopes up…oh, look she's waking."

Hermione stirred, her eyes fluttering open to reality.

"Morning," Deb smiled, "Gave us quite a fright there."

Hermione was silent, her eyes focusing on the places she had cut on her wrists, now lying in her lap. Deb kneeled in front of her and took Hermione's hands in hers.

"Do you think your parents would want you to do that, Hermione?" Severus asked.

Hermione still abstained from comment.

"You didn't really want to die, did you Hermione?" Deb said, "You just thought that would be the only answer, the only way out."

Hermione looked at her.

"You're listening to an expert here, Hermione. And I can help you right now. I think what you're feeling right now is desperation. You don't really know what do to with yourself, so you're trying to get out of doing anything. But I have a better idea for you. I think what would really help right now is a little perspective, would you agree, Severus?"

"I cannot say that I don't." He replied cautiously.

"What about you Hermione? Perspective?"

Hermione nodded.

"Right," Deb rose to her feet, "Would you stand up for me please?"

Hermione eased herself off the bed to face Deb, her eyes slightly wary.

"It's all right Hermione," Deb smiled as she led Hermione to the window, "I'm not going to kill you. Now, could you look down to the grass down there please?"

Hermione looked down.

"What can you see?" Deb asked neutrally.

"Grass."

"Can you see the blades, or can you see green that you recognize as grass?"

"Green."

"Exactly. Now here's your little bit of perspective."

And Deb picked her up and shoved her out the window.

Hermione suddenly felt the rush of wind past her face and blood to her heart. Her stomach flipped and her breath came in gasps. The ground was shooting towards her, the huge stone blocks of the castle blurring into nothing, the faces of people around her…Harry, Ron, Severus, Deb, her parents…

Suddenly she jolted to a stop, the blades of grass no more than inches from her dangling hair. 

"You can see the blades of grass now, can't you Hermione?!" Deb shouted from the window, her wand pointing at Hermione. "Don't worry, it's a rhetorical question!" And Hermione felt herself being raised up again. Deb hauled Hermione's shuddering form back into the room and set her down on the bed, still gasping for breath.

"DEBORAH ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!?" Severus roared. "SHE'S A GIRL NOT AN APPLE CORE!"

"She's alive isn't she? And the better for it I should think." Deb snapped dryly as she knelt down again before Hermione. "You were afraid weren't you? When you realized you were plunging to your death."

Hermione nodded solemnly.

"You don't really want death, you just don't want to cope…make it all go away and not have to think about it." 

She nodded again.

"It doesn't exactly work that way though. You don't get to block them out. They're kind of like infectious diseases. The more ways you find to block them out, the stronger they get and the better they get at eating away at you. You're a strong girl Hermione…And your wrists are stronger than you think, and your friends are closer than you think. That's why you'll spend one week here. One week to mourn and grieve, and then you're going to get up and back to life. Because if you don't, Hermione, he's won. If you can't get back to normal everyday life, that son of a bitch has beaten us. You are the sole survivor in your family. You now bear the same burden that I and Harry bear, but you can see that both Harry and I are coping. Perhaps we're not the most stable people you know, but I believe we're the better for it. Harry was rewarded with the key to Voldemort's destruction, even if he doesn't want it. I was rewarded wit the drive to succeed and champion over problems, even if I didn't ask for it. Nobody asks for it, you certainly didn't, but you were' given it, and like they say, if life hands you lemons…"

"Make lemonade." Severus finished.

"Well, I was going to say lemon drops, but whatever turns you on."


	11. The Mind's Construction

Author's note: ok, I've finally dragged it through this very rough patch. I found it very difficult to write this, because it seems to drag on and on, but it's done now and so is she. So enjoy everyone, and feel free to review or email, the address, I believe is a couple of chapters back. 

And by the way, if anyone is so inclined to read the section I edited out in which Snape is tortured, I'll be happy to send it to you. Yes, I wrote it, because I wanted to be sure in my mind of what he went through.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to she who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling. All thanks to her and my computer.

**Chapter 11 - The Mind's Construction **

Severus went that night to see Dumbledore and explain all that had transpired, including the passing of Hermione's parents. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were called in to hear the news, and every person was denied the chance to see Hermione. 

"What do you mean we can't see her?" Ron exclaimed indignantly.

"Just that, Mr Weasley," Snape replied acridly, "You are forbidden to enter Professor Daniels' quarters…as is everyone. Do not think you and Mr Potter are special, Mr Weasley, even Professor Dumbledore is forbidden. You must give her ample time to grieve."

"Why is Professor Daniels allowed to see her?"

"That is between Miss Granger and Professor Daniels," He said curtly, "Now if you will excuse me, I have much to catch up on. Professor Dumbledore, Minerva," he turned his burning eyes, "Potter…Weasley," and departed.

A thin, wan light broke on Hermione's face, as she woke in Deb's chambers for the seventh and last time, by the deal they'd made. There was a strange taste in her mouth, bitter, sharp and offensive. Vomit. She was wearing the pyjamas Deb had loaned her, which was just another sign of her presence.

Deb was nowhere to be seen in the room, but Hermione felt her. The stacks of books, reams of paper, broken quills, bottles and glasses were sodden with an energy that could have only been Deb's. There was also her smell, like lots of things but not quite anything. It floated through the air like the shadow of a nanny. It was hard to feel truly alone…hardly a coincidence.

Hermione pulled the covers over her head and curled into fetal position. The whole world was against her. Mother and father dead, not even able to kill herself… Where was the justice? Why couldn't she have the life she'd had just a week ago? Why couldn't everything just stay the way it was? And what did I do to deserve it? Why don't the Malfoys parents die? Draco deserves some suffering in his life, but she'd never done anything wrong enough to warrant losing her parents. What was coming of the world?

And what did she ever do to Voldemort? She'd never even seen him in her life, never uttered a word to him. Harry was the one he was after…but Harry's already lost his parents. Hermione guessed it was because she so contradicted everything he said about pureblood being better than _mudbloods_, what with her beating Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle in every subject. Or why not Crabbe and Goyle? Would they even notice if their parents were killed?

"Hermione?" she heard from the doorway accompanied by footsteps. There was small clatter as a tray was put down somewhere and a shake of the bed as Deb sat down on it.

"I brought you breakfast. " A cloying silence came between them until Deb scratched her head.

"I know there's nothing I can say to you right now, you've got lots of bad thoughts to think through, but you can ask me anything, anything, and I'll tell you. Anything you want, and I'll get it for you."

"Why?" Hermione mumbled.

"Why what?" Deb said cautiously.

"Why me? Why my parents?"

Deborah sighed.

"You've asked me the one question I cannot answer. I don't have the answer. I've asked it of my own situation too, but I just don't know."

"Don't you miss them?" Hermione said, as she crawled out from under the covers.

"Yes, but I cope. It's not so much missing them, actually. After a few years that goes away. It's the fact that I didn't get all the time I deserved with them. It was cut short. That is the pain that stays with you."

"I miss them."

 "I know." Deborah sighed again and gave Hermione a warm hug. "Give it time."

Hermione screamed and threw Deborah's arms away. "I don't want to give it time! I don't want to! I WANT THEM BACK! I want to see them again, I want them to watch me graduate, get married, see grandchildren. I want them to be HERE!"

"They're here, Hermione, if not in body." Deb offered.

"BOLLOCKS!" Hermione leapt out of bed, "Don't feed me crap, Deb, I just want them back!"

"I know it sounds like crap Hermione, but your parents gave birth to you to perpetuate themselves. You are now the only living remnant of your parents. They live in you. You don't care now, I know, but at some point, when you're least expecting it, you'll feel a surge of pride, and it'll be your mind working for them."

Hermione lifted the breakfast tray and threw it at the door, where plates shattered and clattered to the floor.

"I DON'T CARE! HOW DOES THAT HELP ME NOW?!"

"Hermione, what do you want me to tell you? There isn't anything…not one thing that will make this any better. Death is part of life."

"NOT MINE!" Hermione screamed. She paused for a moment, and her words suddenly turned around and imprinted on her brain.

"Not mine." She sat down on the bed, shoulders curled in disheartenment. Deb put her hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Hermione," She said firmly, "Today you are going to get up, you're going to have a shower, eat some breakfast and go back to classes. You've had your time to wallow, now you must return to life."

"I can't," Hermione sulked.

"You must," Deborah insisted, "Otherwise your highly inquisitive friends, Harry and Ron, will attempt to break into my office again."

"They tried to break in?" Hermione said incredulously.

"What? You think it's beneath them? Of course. And not just once, but four times. Thy never quite realized though, that I've been sitting out there all week. I haven't left, so I always catch them. That invisibility cloak only works on people who aren't expecting it." Deb waved her wand and a glass of water appeared in her hand. She handed it to Hermione.

"How could they be so stupid?" Hermione took the glass.

"They love you, Hermione. They care about you. The real question is, how can you say you cannot go on living when you have friends like that? You still have love around you. You have Harry, Ron, all the Weasleys from what I hear, Dumbledore, Me and even Snape."

Hermione coughed some of her water out.

"Umm…I really doubt THAT."

"It's true. He doesn't love you like, want-to-get-into-your-pants love you, it's more like like-the-daughter-I'll-never-have love. Don't mistake the insults for insults, Hermione. Sarcasm is his expression of care. And be thankful for that. Sometimes I wonder at how he is still capable of it, even in it's severely twisted form."

There was a sad, thoughtful pause while Deb looked out the window.

"You know, Hermione, sometimes I wonder what we would have been if death hadn't knocked on our doors so many times. What more we could have done if we hadn't been so badly scarred. But then I think again and I realize we probably would not have been better people, but rather worse. And we wouldn't have done any more, but rather less. I've come to realize that for all the battery we go through, we actually come out the better, because we're learning. What doesn't kill you really makes you stronger. So you get out of this sad stupor and win your life back. You'll get your revenge. You school uniform will be here when you get out."

Hermione shuffled into the bathroom and ran the shower, somewhat warmer than she would normally tolerate, but in this instance it helped her wake up and cleanse herself of the mourning, like stepping into the sun after a week of twilight. 

She didn't want to sit in a dark room for the rest of her life and sulk about the past. She didn't want to be a victim of a mean and hurt little boy acting out his fantasies on the world. She resolved to fight, not to dwell on the pain, but to push on, like Harry and Deb did every day. Like every other person who loses family does. She had a duty to her parents to avenge their deaths, and she could do so simply by living, and by showing she was not destroyed by Voldemort's cruelty. It sounded stupid even as she thought it, but those things Deb said, about her parents being in her too…well, it was beginning to ring very true. She strode out of the shower, toweled herself off, and when she came back into Deb's bedroom, there was her uniform on the bed. Laid out perfectly, as good as new.


	12. Thrice to Thine

Author's Note: Alright, now this chapter is going to have mistakes, I'm sure of it. But you were all pelting messages at me telling me to hurry up so I thought I'd sacrifice that last spellcheck and edit so that you can be happy.

And THANKYOU to everyone who sends reviews. I really appreciate it…really I do. It's so nice to log on and see people appreciate what I do. And one little personal note:

Phoenix Flight: yes, Hermione can get through anything, because anyone can get through anything, should they choose to.

And if anyone wants to knows anything, I'm happy to answer. My email address is in one of the earlier chapters, so if there's anything…what Deb eats for breakfast, why I chose the potions ingredients I chose, Please feel free to email me.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.

**Chapter 12 – Thrice to Thine**

It happened almost like summer lightening. Severus and Deborah had been working frantically to prepare the ingredients and had all but three. They hadn't yet had the Death Eaters' children kidnapped and the holidays were almost over. In all seriousness it looked like they weren't going to be ready. They were going crazy for one ingredient which was taking it's time in arriving. But a week before the holidays were over, a letter arrived for Severus. It was black and the letters had been burned out.

_Severus,_

_            Our Master has chosen a new date. Those of us who have children studying at Hogwarts managed to convince him that they only need a little more time at Hogwarts to receive the last scraps that the school can offer them before it goes to the dogs. On the 15th of April we will be ready, and so must you be. Master says, however, that as soon as your work is ready he would like you to present it. Be warned, he is very eager._

_L.M._

Everyone exhaled and had a stiff drink after that. The fates were with them…a good sign for times to come. But still Severus wondered if perhaps it was a trick, perhaps they were cutting him out of the loop, confusing him into thinking he knew. But it didn't make sense, Voldemort needed the potion to win, without it he was a lesser wizard. Well, there was nothing for it but to trust it. Deb trusted it, so he'd have to do the same.

It would have been hard going for Hermione if Dumbledore had told the whole school what had happened. She realized that later. He'd decided that it was best if no one heard because Draco was as much a spy for Voldemort as Snape was for Dumbledore. No one knew about it. It was a real secret, not the kind that everyone finds out about. All but the teachers, Harry, Ron and Ginny (after some consideration) had been told that Hermione had had a bad and seriously contagious case of the giggly glands, so she was being quarantined for the duration of her illness. 

The teachers were all very lenient on her, even though it wasn't necessary. All but Snape and Deb said they'd understand if she wasn't able to hand things in on time, but she never failed to be the first one to hand her work in. She was still the Hermione they knew and loved, but on top of all the time she spent with Deb and Severus, she'd also taken to long walks around the castle or in the corridors.

It wasn't because she was depressed, really. She just liked to have time alone to think about them. She no longer thought of her parents and cried though, even though she expected to. Instead she smiled. She cherished her memories of them, and liked to spend a bit of time every week thinking about them. Deb said as time would pass, she'd do it less and less. 

She should still be many stages behind in her process of grieving, but something about being thrown out a window seemed to have booted her along a bit. It was utterly bizarre at the time, but now it was as if Deb had opened a window into her cell of depression and cool fresh air had blasted her into reality. It was difficult to explain how exactly it had done the job, but she very much suspected that Deb had thought about a solution to loss long ago, given her own circumstance. She also felt a bit better for the wear, like she could square her shoulders and march on. It was sort of exhilarating.

And after the turmoil of the holidays, they were back to school. Deb had postponed the performance of the musical to the end of the year, to everyone's great relief. A lot of people had been concerned about the fact that no one knew who Eliza and Professor Higgins were. Neville and Madame Pomfrey (who were playing Colonel Pickering and Mrs Pearce, respectively) were particularly concerned because they hadn't been able to practice their lines properly. Deb promised that by the end of March, she'd reveal all. Hermione had blacked the day out in her calendar.

Deb had also insisted they go back to work on the potion, despite their extension. She was still nervous it wouldn't be ready, and didn't want to take the risk. The first evening after classes, Hermione knocked on the door to Severus' office. The door opened quickly and black robes flapped quickly away. Hermione entered to see Severus already climbing down the ladder in the next room.

"Don't worry," Said Deb, "He doesn't mean to be rude, he's just feeling a little guilty and embarrassed. He'll get over it in about a week."

They climbed the horrendously high staircase and immediately set to work. Before now they'd only been able to prepare to brew the necessary potion, because some of the ingredients were quite obscure and needed to be treated in a particular way before being used. So far they had every herbal ingredient including the twenty globe amaranth flowers soaked in a Rosebay infusion, three American cowslips chewed by a dragon, dried bearded Crepis picked at midnight and, the most difficult, crushed Hemlock and coca leaves. Among the other ingredients they had obtained were a candle made of earwax, feather of an Ibis killed by an arrow, and a bone from a man who didn't know it was gone. Today they'd just received an ethanol made from Monkshood, which had been what they were so worried about. Severus stored it safely beside the others in a special cabinet.

"Right," Severus said, "We have everything now…except one…"

"Yes, the last one…" Deb smiled.

"It…you'll need to give us a lot, Deborah, the base of the potion."

"I know how it works, Severus. And I'll be fine, I've had to do this before, remember?"

"Excuse me," Hermione interjected, "Would somebody like to tell me what you're talking about."

"The last ingredient in the potion…" Severus explained, "Actually it's the first, because it's the base of the potion…"

"We need two litres of melted Himalayan snow from the top of Everest mixed with two litres of blood from a Daniels family member."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Two litres! Two litres of Deborah's blood. 

"Wow!" Hermione whispered, "Two litres! That's…that's a lot of blood."

"Yes it is," Deb agreed, "Two sevenths of my stores. Traditionally one doesn't purposely part with more than one litre, but the spell requires it."

"Is there some kind of…replenishing spell you can use?" Hermione asked.

"Severus knows a potion, but it can't be used until after all the blood has been drawn. The Daniels potion knows if the blood has been altered by magic."

"You could die." Hermione whimpered morbidly.

"Nonsense, Hermione," Deb said offhandedly, "I'm not going to die. I'm a witch, remember? I may faint, but not for long. Ten minutes…tops."

"What if there's some complication?" Hermione questioned anxiously, "What if you've got heart failure?"

Deb just giggled. "You're quite funny when you panic unnecessarily. Believe me, if I had heart failure, I'd know. I'm a witch for heaven's sakes! Relax! What you should worry about more is the Himalayan Snow. Hermione and can go and get it while you make the replenishing potion. I arranged to meet the Diablé there, kill two birds with one stone."

"Fair enough." Severus began taking ingredients off the shelves. "It shouldn't me take longer than what you need to get the snow."

"Alright, thanks Severus." Deb said, surprisingly genuinely. "Have you got a broomstick nearby?"

"That cupboard over there has three Firebolts."

"Oooh…that's a bit upmarket isn't it?" Deborah smiled meaningfully.

"A friend who works with the English Quidditch team wanted to get rid of them, so I took them." Severus said simply as he removed a cauldron from another cupboard. "If they're too good for you I could build you a catapult and fling you to the farther side of hell."

"Well," Deb sniffed as she removed two from their place and handed one to Hermione, "If that's all you've got, Hermione and I will lower ourselves to riding them."

"Piss off." He murmured. "The door's over there." He pointed to a corner of the laboratory where double doors made the actually corner, opening out onto the roof. Hermione began to worry. She'd never been any good at flying. What if Deb meant them to fly to Tibet?

Deb led Hermione over, flicked her wrist and the doors creaked open accompanied by the whining of un-oiled metal grinding together. They walked outside and Deb quickly mounted her broom.

"Errr…"

"What's wrong?" Deb asked.

"I'm…not very good at flying." She toed the ground nervously.

"Oh…" Deb shrugged, "Don't worry, we're not flying to Tibet. How silly would that be when I can apparate? No, we're just flying down over the wall outside Hogwarts so we can apparate."

"Errr…"

"You don't think you can do it, then?" Deb vocalized Hermione's thoughts. "Alright, well, do you trust me to fly you down?"

"Err…"

Deb clicked her tongue and put her hand on her hip. "Well, you've got three choices here: you can fly down yourself, you can fly with me or you can walk all the way down there, but I'm not waiting that long, so it's you or me."

Hermione whimpered slightly. She'd never really liked brooms in the first place.

"Alright: you."

"Good. Hop on…and hold on I guess."

Hermione tentatively mounted Deb's broom, grabbed Deb around the waist and held on for dear life.

"Hermione," Deb coughed, "There's no hurling hex on the broom. Can I please breathe?"

Hermione loosened her grip ever so slightly and Deb took off. She was a very good flyer, very smooth and slow, Hermione guessed it was to pander to her own fear.

"You alright there?" Deb asked over the breeze.

"Yes…I'm fine." Hermione called back.

"Good, then you won't mind this."

WHOOSH! They dropped about fifty feet down. Hermione felt her stomach touch her tonsils.

"Fun, isn't it?" Deb yelled as they accelerated to extraordinary speeds."

"Deborah….DEB….WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?"

Hermione screamed and gripped Deborah around the stomach even tighter as Deb swung the broom from side to side, up and down, until they were fifty feet from the wall of Hogwarts, hurtling towards it, unable to stop.

"DEB….WATCH OUT!!!!!!!!!!" she shrieked.

Deb accelerated as they approached and, at the last minute, pulled upwards into a loop-the-loop, turned them down to a nose dive and, once again at the last minute pulled out and brought them to a violent stop. Hermione scrambled off as fast as she could and bent over near a tree to catch her breath and ensure she wouldn't throw up. Deb threw the broomstick up into a tree and made it invisible.

"Enjoy that?" She asked placidly as she joined Hermione took deep breaths.

"You're…a barking…lunatic," Hermione whispered.

"All the freaky people make the beauty of the world." Deb smiled. "Wow, I've never seen so many colors on one person's face. Here, have a glass of water."

Deb handed her a goblet of water and Hermione sipped it gingerly.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you?" Deb asked cautiously, "Because now would be a good time to tell me, considering where we're going."

"No, I'm not afraid of heights," Hermione returned the empty glass and straightened up, "I'm only afraid of you."

Deb laughed and clicked her fingers. Two thick, grey brindle fur coats and two pairs of gloves appeared. Hermione thought they looked a bit like the Durmstrang fur. Viktor had given her one much like it, though she'd never needed it before.

"Go on," Deb encouraged, "They don't bite, despite appearances. They've got a warming charm on them." 

Hermione took one and put it on as Deb did. Deb offered her hand and Hermione took it, and with a pop and a whoosh they were suddenly at the top of Mount Everest.

Gale force winds were whirling around them furiously and snow was stinging their faces. Deb fought the windstorm as she clumsily removed a cauldron from the coat. Apparently there was more pocket space than appeared to the eye.

"Come on then," Deb yelled, "Help us put it in here."

They began shoveling with their hands, piles of snow. It wasn't long before it was full, but they were then left to wait for the Diablé.

"He shouldn't be long. I've never known him to be late." Deb reassured Hermione, who was beginning to shiver. "Here…let's play rock paper scissors."

"What?"

"You know, the game, where you—"

"I know the game." Hermione snapped.

"Then let's play. Ready?"

Hermione uncrossed her arms and made a fist. "Ready."

"Okay," said Deb, readjusting her stance, "one, two three."

Hermione made scissors, Deb made a rock. Hermione clicked her tongue.

"Again," Deb demanded, "One, two three."

Hermione made scissors again, and Deb made a rock again.

"Again," Deb demanded, and Hermione lost again.

Hermione kept losing, Deb always picking the right choice.

"You're cheating!" Hermione finally accused her of what she was obviously doing.

"No I'm not!" Deb denied, but with a huge grin on her face.

"Yes you are!"

"Well, just a bit."

"How?" Hermione asked, slightly hurt, more fascinated.

"A modified form of legilimency, not the brutal invasion Severus practices, but a very light form that only enters your working memory. Not even enters, but connects with. Like a second receiver listening in on a phone call….sort of…ah, hello, Sphinx!"

A fierce, tough-looking man with black hair and a flappy black cloak had appeared nearby. He nodded as he walked towards them, apparently undisturbed by the ferocious weather. He looked very muscly and _extremely_ dangerous. Like he would've killed them on the spot if they hadn't come with something to offer.

"Are you well?" Deb asked politely.

The man nodded again.

"Good. Well, here's what I need. There are twelve children at Hogwarts whom I need kidnapped and taken to the shrieking shack. I'd prefer it if you didn't have to harm them, I don't mind you putting them to sleep, or anything that they can recover from, but keep them safe. There's twelve kids in all. I've got a list of them… these six are at Hogwarts, these three are at their homes, these two are at Durmstrang and this one's at Beauxbatons. I'd like them all in the shrieking shack on the first of April, no earlier, no later. There'll be a Hogsmeade trip that day, so that won't be a problem. Now listen, you really have to get them there specifically on that date, alright?"

He nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact.

"Good," Deb nodded back, "Now about your pay. I've got a chest here…" She pulled a huge chest out of her coat, about the size of Hermione's trunk. "Now, if you do as I say, this chest will be at the shrieking shack, full of gems, none smaller than walnuts. If not, it will be full of Antimony."

The man inhaled sharply through his nose.

"Yes, this really isn't something you can afford to slip-up on. Now have we got a deal?" She put out her hand. He took a moment, but soon nodded and shook her hand.

"You're a good Diablé, Sphinx. Really tops. See you in April."

He nodded, ran and jumped off the edge of the mountain.

"Ready to go home?" Deb extended her arm again.

When they returned, there was a steaming cauldron and syringes sitting near Severus, who was reading a book.

"You took your time," He said irritably.

"Sphinx was a bit late," Deb put the cauldron of snow on the desk.

"Fine…are you ready?" He asked, shutting his book.

"As I'll ever be." She nodded.

"Then you can lie down over there and roll up your sleeve. Hermione, you can take that potion across to her and put some in an injection." 

Severus pointed to a bed he had obviously conjured up. Deb jumped onto it, rolled up her sleeve and Hermione brought the potion over standing rather awkwardly as Severus brought across a number of medical instruments…a butterfly needle, tube, tourniquet, scissors, all held in a little copper cauldron. Severus sat down beside her, and Hermione took the hint and sat down on the other side. She began to fill the syringes with the transparent blue potion. Severus swabbed Deb's arm with a thick white potion Hermione hadn't seen before.

"It's called the purgery potion," Said Deb, "Not formally, but we call it that for short."

Severus wrapped the tourniquet around her arm and waited. Not long after he prepared the needle.

"I'm going to put the needle in now, Deborah," He said quietly.

Hermione watched the needle enter. Deborah hissed and grabbed Hermione's wrist.

"Never liked that part." She smiled feebly.

There was a lot of silence as Severus connected the needle to a tube which led to the copper cauldron on the table nearby. He'd made the table sway slightly to make sure the blood didn't separate. There was still a lot of silence as they waited for the blood to come pulse out.

"You know, I never would have thought I'd end up here," Deb said thoughtfully, "tne years ago I saw myself in some kind of wizard circus, doing crazy things for a living."

"I can see where you might have gotten that idea," Hermione threw in.

"Yeah," Deb said wistfully, "But here I am, you know, a teacher…who would have thouuuurrrggh."

"Bye bye, Deborah," Severus sighed, "And with about another five hundred ml to go, where is your stamina woman?"

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Hermione asked desperately.

"Of course not," Severus said curtly, "If there was I'd be doing it."

"What if she dies?"

"She won't die, Hermione," He replied irately, "She's a witch!"

"But—"

"Hermione, _she will not die_. You'll only upset yourself this way. You're not about to lose someone else. We can't afford to."

Hermione was silenced. Slightly ashamed of herself, she continued filling the syringes.

"Hermione?" Severus said.

"Yes," Hermione answered, very warily.

"I'm…sorry." It sounded constipated, but genuine.

"For what?" she asked.

"For…you parents. There was nothing I could do." 

He looked at her sadly. She smiled back.

"I know."

"Alright," Severus finally said, "I'm taking the needle out…now." He covered the little hole with a swab and tied it down with a small bandage. He walked around to Hermione's side and Hermione leapt out of the way. He began injecting the potion. One syringe, two syringes, three syringes…Hermione eventually had to start refilling them. It took eight syringes for Deborah to wake. When she finally did it was with a huge deep breath and a giggle.

"All there?" She asked.

"All there. Two full litres. You were unconscious at 1.5," He sneered.

"I'm so upset." She said sarcastically, "Let's begin then, shall we?"

Three hours later, at eleven o'clock, twenty vials of freshly brewed potion were stored safely in Severus' special case for special potions and everyone went away happy, for a change.


	13. Back to Basics

Hi, sorry…I know it took me a very long time…I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't make excuse, but I've developed a strange tremor in my right hand that sometimes makes it hard to type. So while my mother is secretly praying it's not a brain tumor (and I have more of a chance of getting leprosy than a brain tumor) I have had to cut down on my load of typing. Of which there is a lot.

Ok, now to address one problem people had with last chapter.

Cool kittie: Yes, I know about the altitude thing…believe me, I had altitude sickness myself when visiting the Andes. I just thought I'd skip it, seeing as though they're witches and probably would be able to cope.

Sabriel41: I am sorry, I've only just now seen your review…I am going right now to look at your story…I am honoured that you want me to look at it…best thing that happened to me all month.

So…on we go, to the chapter I think of as the lull before the storm. Very dialogue heavy. 

P.S: everyone must see Kill Bill. I demand it.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.

**Chapter 13 – Back to basics**

With the potion out of the way, Hermione found herself back in the swing of things…mostly. No more meetings running into early morning or missing class to tend mortally wounded teachers. Now it was business as usual, with normal school classes and homework at the end, rehearsals on Saturdays and special lessons with Deb on Tuesdays. The only difference was that now the incessant male ramblings of Quidditch had been replaced by incessant inter-gender ramblings about My Fair Lady. With only five or so months to go, (Hermione thought it was plenty of time) Dean Thomas had frantically begun conjuring materials for props and scenery. He refused to simply let Professor McGonagall transfigure them all on the day, insisting that "It just isn't art when we skive off like that." 

By February he had so many props and sets that, eve when he reduced them in size, he couldn't put them anywhere. Fences from Covent Garden appeared in the hallways, along with staircases from Professor Higgins house and a number very impressive, glimmering crystal chandeliers. Dumbledore was almost immediately alerted to this by a very irate Argus Filch, who seemed to take it as a personal attack, and was now watching Dean everywhere he went.

One evening in the common room, Harry, Ron and Hermione were writing a particularly nasty potions essay comparing the effects and ingredients of a floating potion and a flying potion. Ron, who'd just finished his first scroll of parchment, had taken a break to scowl at Hermione, who was nearly finished her third scroll.

"I just don't understand, Hermione," He said desolately, "There just isn't that much to write about these silly potions!"

Every time they had homework, Ron persisted with this performance. Hermione hated it.

"You're not trying, Ron," She replied as she pulled another scroll out of her bag, "You're just sitting there worrying about how hard it is."

"I am not," he said indignantly, "Look here, I'm up to my second scroll."

Hermione didn't really want to have this discussion with him. It was like trying to tell a baboon he ought to learn to speak. He just wasn't interested.

"Can't I just copy yours?"

"Oh honestly, Ron," she snapped, "You can be so stupid! There isn't any time left to be lazy! Can't you see that you've got to stand on your own two feet now? I can't help you in the exam, can I?"

"No, but you can help me now."

Infuriating. She couldn't stand it any longer.

"Fine, here!" she threw her essay at him, "Take it, you stupid, immature, creature! What do I care if you ruin your own chances at OWL's?!" 

And with that, she stormed out of the common room and ran straight into Ginny.

"Oh, sorry, Ginny," she said distractedly, "Your brother was just being a git again and he made me so angry I had to leave."

"I know what you mean," Ginny replied sadly, "He just refuses to grow up these days. It almost as f he doesn't want to go any further than Hogwarts."

"Yes…"

They stood for a moment, Hermione trying to think of a polite way to leave, Ginny surveying Hermione's face, picking at emotions and thoughts.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I think I know who's going to be Professor Higgins."

Hermione's heart began to bounce around in her chest.

"Really?" she smiled carefully, "Who?"

"Professor Snape."

Hermione stomach lurched and began to squirm almost as much as she was.

"And I think I know who's going to be Eliza too."

Hermione's knees nearly gave in. Could Ginny know? How? Sometimes the girl was as omniscient as Dumbledore.

"It's you, isn't it?"

"Ginny you mustn't tell anyone" She pleaded, "Not a soul, please, you've got to know how embarrassing this is going to be for me, please, you can't tell anyone!"

"It's alright, I'm not going to tell. But I think you should talk to Harry."

"Why?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Because he misses you. He feels like he hardly gets to talk to you, and he really wants to because….well, because Ron and I aren't enough. He needs you too."

Hermione put her head in her hands.

"I just want this year to be over so everything goes back to normal."

"Hermione, there is no such thing as normal, especially not now."

Hermione realized how very true that was. She would eventually have to go home to an empty house, find a job…do…everything, and pretty much on her own.

"Look," Ginny said reasonably, "Why don't you go back in there, tell them to put their homework away and just talk to them. Ron will calm down soon enough. They just want to support you…they didn't really get to, and they want to make sure you're happy. In fact, maybe you should tell them who's playing Eliza."

Hermione gave her a look of pure horror.

"You don't have to tell them who's playing Higgins. That'll be all too much for them. They know how to keep a secret though. They are loyal to you."

"Ginny, when did you become a mother?" Hermione asked wearily.

"When puberty kicked in," Ginny chuckled, "I can't help it. It's in my genes. Now go and talk to them."

Ginny pushed her back into the common room and straight back to the table at which Harry was now telling Ron something that seemed to make him sad. They stopped as Hermione came to stand rather awkwardly beside them. She was silent for a moment, but suddenly felt obligated to say something.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, Ron," She said slowly, "I didn't mean to, but you see…well, I've been under quite a bit of stress."

"No, it was my fault," He said somberly, "Harry told me…I should be more sensitive."

"No, Ron, really," She said earnestly, "Harry's wrong. It's really me. You see….well, I don't quite know how to say this, but….well," she dropped her voice to a murmur, "I'm going to be Eliza Dolittle."

Jaws have never dropped so low so fast from people who were so used to surprises.

"You?" Said Ron incredulously. "But…how?"

"I've been practicing in secret with Deborah and…Professor Higgins. During our private lesson time."

"Ooh…" Harry suddenly whispered, "Who's Higgins, then?"

"I'm absolutely not telling you!" she answered resolutely, then tried a different tack, "You have to leave some surprises for later, don't you?"

"Oh ho ho," Ron chuckled, "Not this one, I'm afraid. Come on Hermione, tell us. Are you embarrassed?"

"Of course not." She knew they'd see through her. They always did. This wasn't exactly how she'd planned this conversation to go…but quality time is quality time.

"Who could so thoroughly embarrass Hermione that she wouldn't want to tell her two best friends?" Harry stood up and paced in a mocking fashion. Hermione didn't put it past him to be referencing Higgins, but remained silently resigned to their thoughts, trying to will herself not to react.

"Are you telling me you haven't already thought about this? I thought everyone was up in arms about this."

"Yeah," Harry conceded, "But no one knew as much as we do now. For all we knew it could have been a Dementor. Now we know it's someone who's here all the time. And someone you don't want to tell us about."

"Oh fine, whatever…" Hermione waved her hand irritably, "How long will this take?"

"It can't be a student, can it?" Ron suggested, ignoring Hermione's last comment.

"I don't know anyone who hasn't got a part already. Even Malfoy's got one."

"Right," Ron agreed, "so we're pretty much looking at teachers then…" Ron rubbed his chin for a moment, then started, "I've got it! It's Filch."

"Eeeuuurgh," Hermione nearly gagged.

"No," Harry shook his head, "He's the bartender."

Another silence.

"Oh!" Ron pointed victoriously at her, "Professor Vector!"

"No," Harry smiled at Hermione's rolling eyes, "He's the Ambassador…but there's someone we're forgetting, Ron. Someone so obvious. Someone we'd never guess would ever do something like this. Someone so…unexpected."

Hermione's heart accelerated to light speed.

"Who?"

"Dumbledore," Harry said petulantly, "Bloody Dumbledore."

Hermione's heart decelerated.

"What?" Ron said disbelievingly, "Albus Dumbledore?"

"Do you know another Bloody Dumbledore?" Harry asked angrily.

"No, it can't be…I mean, we all know he's….you know what-ing on You-Know-Who for the Order. He can't be doing that, and being Headmaster, and rehearsing a musical."

"Why not?" argued Harry, "Hermione's in the middle of her final year at school, is taking extra lessons, her parents passed away and she's the main part in our musical. Some people are multi-taskers."

"What about Snape?" Ron offered.

Hermione's heart leaped into warp speed again.

"Don't be stupid, Ron," Harry laughed, "Do you really think Hermione could bear to be around him any longer than is absolutely necessary. And besides, that man hasn't got a funny bone in his body. His funny bone probably isn't even funny."

"So that's it, is it?" Hermione feigned weary defeat as she sat down in one of the nearby wingbacks. She could hardly believe her good luck. They were so…ridiculous. It was almost criminal to let it go to waste.

"Bet on it." Harry sat back happily.

"Alright then," Hermione shrugged, "Ron, what do you think?"

"I reckon it is Filch, only professor Daniels has him posing as the bartender."

"Wait

"Willing to bet on it?" Hermione was half pleased and half horrified at her sudden mimicry of Deb's manipulation.

"Why not?" Ron smiled deviously. Hermione would've felt bad, but she knew Ron had recently been sent some money from the terrible twins, who were making a fortune on Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

"Right then," she rubbed her hands together, "two galleons to the winner, plus you've got to run naked across the stage during the intermission if you lose."

Neither party looked to happy about that last part, but Hermione was thrilled. She _knew_ she had them in the bag now. She knew they were both wrong, and almost wanted to tell them then and there who it really was right then.

"Alright, let's shake on it." She put two hands out crossed over, and they formed a little triangle of handshakes. And there it was. Four galleons and a lifetime supply of ridicule were hers.

"Deb, I've been meaning to ask you something." Hermione mentioned as they shared some tea at the end of a rehearsal with Snape.

"Ask away," Deb put her teacup down and crossed her arms.

"That day, on Mount Everest. You said to the Diable that if it didn't do it's job there'd be Antimony in the chest instead of jewels."

"Oh…you want to know why that would be an incentive to complete it properly. Well, it goes a little something like this. You know how Arsenic is deadly to humans?"

"Yes."

"Antimony is hugely more deadly to a Diable. One touch and they're gone. Only they can't help touching it if they see it. They are just mesmerized by it in it's pure state, so they _have_ to touch it, which means they _have_ to die. Kind of like those bug lights that attract bugs and the electrocute them."

"Wow. Isn't that a little harsh?"

"Hermione, did you even look at him? He is a hardened criminal. You think this is the first time his life has been threatened? Believe me, he'll deal with it."

They were silent for a little while, not uncomfortably, but contentedly, like old friends from a past life.

"I told Harry and Ron I'm Eliza."

"That must have been interesting." Deb commented.

"Well, I've never seen two jaws drop so low so fast."

"I'll bet," Deb chuckled, "And I'll bet they also wanted to know who the illustrious Professor Higgins will be." Deb rubbed Severus' shoulder. He grimaced.

"Yes, they did. And they guessed all over the place. He did guess it was Severus, but harry convinced him it wasn't. So now Ron reckons it's Filch and he's only got the bartender part as a cover up."

"That's ridiculous and disgusting," Severus protested, "He's got the personal hygiene of a sewer rat and the enunciation of an inebriated whore."

"I was just going to say they were wrong," Deb admitted, "But ok. What about Harry?"

"Well, I thought he'd guess it was Severus, but no, he reckons it's Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" Severus repeated unbelievingly, "The man is ancient! If Longbottom were to be older than him he'd have to be dead! Are these two boys out of their minds?"

"Wow, Severus," Deb grinned, "Taking it personally, are we? Feeling a little invisible?"

He crossed his arms and ground his teeth sulkily.

"Oooh! Oooh!" Deborah crowed, "Wait, who am I? Henry, don't grind your teeth! Get it? Get it? I'm Mrs Higgins!"

Severus didn't find that very funny, so Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing at him.

"Oh come on," Deborah coaxed Hermione, "You want to laugh, go on, you know you want to…"

Hermione held herself resolute, took a deep breath and raised her chin.

"Deb, you are puerile."

"I know, it's great fun, you should try it some time. You too, Severus."

There was no response.

"Oh never mind," Deborah murmured and sipped her tea.

"So anyway," Hermione continued, "I convinced them to bet on it."

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Deborah slapped her on the back, "I'm glad I've taught you something. See, Severus, isn't she smart? What did they bet?"

"I made them bet two galleons, and whoever is wrong has to run naked across the stage during intermission."

Deborah burst into rambunctious laughter and Severus just scowled.

"Why are you encouraging this, Deborah? You're supposed to give her a detention."

"Oh for Fuck's sake, Severus!" Deborah sobered enough to swear sharply, "You, of all people, should enjoy this moment. You're two most hated students are certain to embarrass themselves thanks to yourself and Hermione, and all you can do is grimace like your constipated. Step out a little, man, why don't you try smiling? Just picture it! The two of them, streaking across the stage, their white arse cheeks clear for all the world to see…not to mention other delicate parts. Molly Weasley having a heart attack, then berating her son, then having another heart attack when she finds out it was Hermione who orchestrated it."

Severus' lips twitched into something resembling a smile for perhaps a split second before he abruptly lifted himself from the chair.

"Funny," he agreed curtly, "But wrong."

"Oh, and you're the authority on that, are you? Severus, you are such a stick in the mud."

They sat for a little longer in silence.

"Deborah," Hermione piped up again.

"Yes," Deborah answered slowly.

"What happens after?" Hermione asked.

"What do you mean, after?" Deborah grinned.

"I mean after all this, after the end of the term." Deborah  sipped her tea and put it down again. "I imagine you'll get into a course at university, I may stay on to teach here, or maybe I'll have a holiday, and maybe Severus will too."

"I don't think I want to go straight to university." Hermione considered it, "I mean, I want to see a bit of the world first."

"Hermione," Severus  suddenly interjected, "I think it's best—"

"Since when do you know what's best?" Deborah challenged him.

"Since I'm the oldest and most sensible." Severus said defensively.

"Oh, sensible, are you? Was joining the death eaters the most sensible thing you could think to do, then?"

"Shut up, you harebrained lunatic."

Deborah giggled, but didn't provoke him further.

"Don't you want to get into the swing of things at university?" He offered, "See what it's like…"

"Not really, no. I'd rather see what the world is like."

"You went to Germany with your parents, if I'm not much mistaken," Severus argued, "And you've been to France and—"

"How do you know all this?" Hermione asked defensively, suddenly aware it was entirely inappropriate for him to know these things.

"I just know. You give Minerva a present, she blurts it out to someone else. She can't help herself, blathering on about how much everyone loves her."

"Awww, Severus," Deborah cooed sarcastically, "don't worry, You'll never have that problem."

"You just can't keep your mouth shut, can you?" Severus shook his head.

"I know," Deborah shrugged matter-of-factly, "It's a curse. Now Hermione, I think you have to make that decision on your own, because it won't be us at university. But, if you need any help setting things in order…if you want anything at all, you only have to call me, or Severus for that matter, and—"

"Excuse me, since when am I her Godfather?"

"Since now," Deborah said simply. He looked at her angrily, and she clicked her tongue at him. "Are you telling me that if Hermione called on you for help, you wouldn't oblige, you nasty, nasty man?"

He turned his eyes down, seemingly chewing his tongue…hard.

"Anyway," Deborah turned back to Hermione, "We're only an owl or fireplace away, so don't ever hesitate, night or day…particularly when dealing with Severus…you should probably wait until night time, because he very much enjoys having his sleep disturbed at three in the morning."

At that he leapt from his seat with an aggravated, "bah!" and skulked to the farthest window.

"That time of the month, is it, Severus?"


	14. Prelude to a Kiss

Author's note: Just so everyone knows, I don't have a brain tumor. Low blood sugar or something. Mainly the problem is my body whinges on any possible occasion.

Okay, I'd say this is my weakest chapter so far. It's emotion/thought/dialogue-heavy and I don't perfectly like it, but I want to finish the story before I go back to studying. So I hope to high heaven you enjoy it. If not, tough luck.

Also, I short warning, there is a fair amount of expletives in this one. Only because I thought it was justified in the situations.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.

**Chapter 14 – Prelude to a Kiss**

NEWT's. They hit everyone like a tidal wave. Everyone except Hermione, of course. Immediately after Professor McGonagall put the schedule up on the Common room board, she sorted out a very complex study regime, complete with toilet breaks and stretching time. She was completely on top of things, including rehearsals, which had become…well, fun. Severus had loosened up not that they were used to each other and it was a break from the antics of her schoolmates. She might actually miss him when she was gone from Hogwarts. She refused point blank to help Ron at all, and only rarely could Neville convince her to help him with Potions. She had mentioned to Severus that he might consider being a little teency tiny bit nicer to Neville during the exam, considering this time he would be alone with him. She didn't really expect him to take her seriously, but it was worth a try.

Exams had been scheduled for the first week of March. Dean Thomas nearly fainted when he realized he'd have to put aside his work on the musical and start studying. Everyone, in fact, was in hysterics about balancing the two duties and were not at all impressed when Hermione said, "Well, you should have thought of that before, shouldn't you?" And she said that a lot.

Severus, however, was dreading the coming exam week. The younger years were so ignorant of what they were doing it was dangerous, and the older years were so nervous it was dangerous. That Longbottom boy was insufferably so. Severus knew very well it was only because he was so nasty to him, but the novelty of watching him squirm had worn off a little, and it was now just annoying. Hermione had asked him to be nice. Would he? Well, he certainly wasn't going to be a pussycat, but he might consider being…what was the word? Civil. He would deign himself to be civil.

And rehearsals with Hermione? They were alright. They weren't torture. Well, if he was forced to admit it, they were pleasant. It was a sick irony that their relationship mirrored that of Professor Higgins and Eliza. And he knew, beyond all doubt, that Deborah was behind it. She knew it would happen, and was getting a huge kick out of knowing that, a) Hermione would be getting a tattoo, and b)he would be forced to admit he enjoyed himself. He liked it…being in their company. He'd never really liked anything so much to tell the truth. 

He hadn't liked much in his life, so it was no great shock that this came first, but he liked it because there was nothing to it. No work in maintaining the relationship. He and Deborah had traversed the most dangerous of emotional planes together and had come out scathed, but not irreparably. And just recently they had guided Hermione through it too. It made for one of the strongest of bonds, just behind the bond between parent and child. And in some ways it was the bond between parent and child, only formed a little later and more intensively. Parental bonds are formed over years and years of continuous contact, through thick and thin. This bond he had with these women was one formed in a short but extremely harsh period of continuous contact…through lots of thin.

The short and long of it was that he was happy when he was with them, and it became clear to him that he'd have to enjoy it while he could, because they'd soon be gone. Deborah would return to Oxford, Hermione would disappear from Hogwarts, and once again he'd be alone. A cruel reality.

Of course, all the exams came and went, and with them only half the anxiety. As soon as they were behind everyone, it was as if they'd never happened, and all attention was focused on the musical. The teachers had all but given up teaching by the end of March, preferring either to rehearse their own roles, or simply watch. Harry had begun disappearing more often, and Hermione was in no doubt as to why. Dumbledore had taken trainings up a notch, just as more and more owl traffic was building up around his office. They came at a rate of about one per half hour, all from wizards being recruited to eliminate Death Eaters after Voldemort's fall. No one was exactly sure of how this final battle would pan out, though Deborah continually assured people it would all work out for the best, because everything always does, in end.

"What makes you so sure, Deb?" Hermione asked, after one of their lessons, which they had agreed to continue.

"Look at me, Hermione. If anyone is an example of it, it's got to be me. My whole family is gone. And every single one of them was killed or suffered at the hands of a deluded despot. Going back to the First World War, my muggle ancestors were killed in Italy. In the Second World War my grandmother was in a concentration camp. My Grandfather fought against Hitler. Even though they weren't muggles, they fought and lived to tell the tale. And then My parents and brother were slain by Voldemort. But here I am, and I'm alright. Not perfect, but I'm alright. And I'm a success. I support myself, I'm renowned for my work and… I'm doing good. It all turned out alright for me, in the end, despite the magnitude of my hardship, why wouldn't it for the wizarding world?"

"Because Voldemort is…big and crazy."

"Stalin was big and crazy. Idi Amin was big and crazy. Grindewald was big and crazy."

"But Voldemort is now."

"Exactly. He is now….he is NOT the future."

"I don't know."

"That's okay, you know. You don't have to know. It's more fun if you don't, actually."

"But I want to."

"Everyone wants to know it will be fine. Or they think they do. But you actually don't. See, I know it will be alright because I let myself believe it. You refuse to believe it, because you're frightened. And rightfully so. You are a cadet. I am a war-wearied general who's seen horrors more often than you, despite my age. Just let go, try living it, instead of thinking about it."

And so the day approached, when the Diable brought to the Shrieking shack twelve frightened children of Death Eaters. All had been knocked out, gagged and roped down to chairs that had been nailed to the wall of the master bedroom. The Diable had brought them in the morning and flew the coop as soon as his chest appeared. But they woke some time around midday and were alone until about five o'clock, when Deborah decided to start work on them.  Severus, however, was not expecting to have to deal with it himself.

"Severus, I need you there. I can't do it on my own. I have to have someone help me coerce them. I have to have someone to play good cop to my bad cop."

"Shouldn't I be the bad cop, if I go with you?" he felt a little miffed. He was usually the bad cop.

"No, because you already know some of these kids. They might trust you more than me. They might talk to you more than me because I'm foreign to them. You have a dark mark."

"What if it doesn't work?" He suggested seriously, "Then we've got a dozen mini-death eaters who know I'm a spy."

"No, they won't get out in time to say."

"What if—"

"SEVERUS! JUST DO AS I FUCKING SAY!!!"

That ended the argument. Contrary to previous perception, Deborah was, in fact, feeling the pressure. He no longer argued with her. He did as she said, and kept quiet.

The shrieking shack was quiet…still, even. As was the scenery around it. The whole world seemed to be bracing itself for what was to come.

Severus opened the door for them, and Deborah lead the way up the stairs into the master bedroom. Every single victim suddenly sat up and bristled as they came in, only the Hogwarts aware of whom they saw before them.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, my name is Materna." She pointed to Severus, "This is Paterno. We will be your kidnappers for the fortnight."

There was a lot of struggling at that point. Lots of the kidnappees seemed not to like the idea of being roped to a chair for a fortnight. Severus noted that Draco did not struggle.

"Now don't worry," Deborah quelled them, "You're in safe hands. We're not going to harm you, so long as you do as we say. And I really recommend you do because, well, I'm under a lot of stress and I'm liable to get quite upset at whoever doesn't obey me. But we only want to teach you. Now, we're going to take off all your gags, but I want to tell you before we do, that screaming will do you no good, because we're far from anyone who can hear, and no one would care around here anyway."

They untied the gags and, to Severus' surprise, they didn't scream. He could say one thing for the children of Death Eaters. They were obedient, surprise, surprise.

"What do you want?" Draco asked calmly.

"I want you to open your eyes. I want you to see _the_ world…not _your _world. I want to show you that you are all independent beings, and you do not need to depend on the thoughts of others to lead your lives. Your mind is yours to control…no one else's."

"We know all that already." Draco replied offhandedly.

"You know," Deborah replied, as she pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards, "I thought you were too. When I first saw you Draco, I thought 'shit, that boy knows where he is going. That kid, he is ready…he is fucking ready for what life is going to throw at him.' But I began to realize that I was wrong. I was way off. You're blind… you're very fucking blind. And why are you blind? Because someone's put one hell of a blindfold on you…all of you. You've all been blindfolded to the truth. And I thought, what a fucking waste. I mean, you're all essentially nice people, I mean, you'd help you're friends out if they were in trouble. Wouldn't you Draco?"

"I would, if they were my friends."

"Damn right you would. Because you're okay. You're not stupid and you are loyal. But you're making one big mistake, and it really gets to me every time. See, you think your friends are the people sitting around here. You think these are the only people who are your friends. But you're wrong. Because you've got other friends, but you refuse to think of them as such. I mean, how fucking crazy? I mean, Draco, you're a smart kid. Maybe not the brightest star in the galaxy, but you do pretty damn well. So what the fuck is wrong with you? Huh?" She hit him over the head, ruffling his perfectly licked back hair. "Why don't you think of me as your friend?"

"Because you're not my friend," He replied, grinding his teeth, "You're a meddling bitch."

"I don't think those are your words Draco. I don't think so at all. I think you heard them somewhere. Care to share?"

"I didn't hear them anywhere," Draco's eyes glinted angrily, "It's what I think of you."

"Do you think I don't know what I'm doing?"

"I think you don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Well, Draco, I'm going to share a little secret with everyone here, because we're all friends, right? We're all mates. Your dad, he killed my whole family. My mother, my father and my little brother. And I think that I would be perfectly justified in killing you. I think if I killed you, your mother and your father, I'd be justified. I think that would make us about square. But I restrain myself, because I still think there's hope for you. I think if you saw the world through unclouded eyes you might understand my hope for you. Only problem is, there aren't any potions to clear away the intolerance and hatred. I could bash it out of you, but I'm above that. I want you to open your eyes on your own. Paterno and I are going to help you see the light in your darkness."

How she did it, he wasn't even sure. She may have fed them that crap about no potion for intolerance and opening eyes on their own, they were gently coercing these children in their minds. And who better to do so than himself and this sneaky crocodile of a woman, both highly skilled at such mindgames. Eight hours every day she spoke to them, discussed with them, argued with them, swore at them, spat at them, insulted them and their parents, complimented them, tricked them, deceived them, used their words against them and twisted their proverbial arms behind their backs, and somehow, it had worked. One week later these creatures…the spawn of hell, were now vomiting up stories of abuse and disturbed childhood. Family Secrets, family tragedies, evil entwined forever in their family trees. Draco himself had admitted his father beat him and was generally abusive. A Durmstrang girl positively keened like a banshee as she described being raped by her father and uncle. A Boy with a thick French accent stuttered through a confession of his own sins…setting a House elf on fire, tying his little brother to a broomstick and flying it with control of his wand. And eventually he admitted to being given alcohol in his food from the youngest of ages. Deborah was very comforting, hugging each child as they professed their horrors. He actually did very little talking, and was only there to take physical care of them, really. Escort them to the bathroom, feed them, etcetera. Ironic, after she'd named him Father and herself Mother in Latin.

Afterwards, Deborah stood up and faced the group of hurt children, now wiping away tears. "Well, you all shared, so I think I ought to." She removed the coat the hid her tattoos and showed them for all to see, even spinning to prove they went all round.

"I was seventeen when my family died. I didn't know what to do. Life seemed to hurt. Every day was a battle. I cried with the smallest provocation…sometimes even without. Soon I started giving myself something to cry about." She took a knife from her pocket and drew it across her bicep, spurting forth a stream of blood. "I cut myself, at least three times a day, slicing myself open to see my mortality in front of me, pouring out. It was all fucked up in my head. I didn't really know what was going on. Then I realized that if I got tattoos, I would get that hit of pain, and I would have something other than scars to show for it. And I didn't really think of anything else, because I had nothing to think of. There was nothing in my life. But Paterno here, he knew what had happened. He was the only thing in my life that was familiar. Nothing remained but this face, who had also seen my parent die. He had been one of the Death Eaters, but he had hidden me, when Lucius came searching for leftovers.  He helped me because he opened his eyes and saw truth. He saw that the only thing his actions were creating were victims, not a better world. And so here I am, alive, well, and here to help you open your eyes. Your parents are have made decisions in their lives, now you have to choose whether or not you will fall in behind them. Are you going to do to other people what they did to you, or are you going to put an end to this vicious circle of destruction?"

The keening girl from Durmstrang was first to denounce her family.  
"I am going to put an end to it. No one should haff to feel zee sings I felt."

The French boy came next.

"I will also take arms against ma familie. We must end zees."

In turn they all turned, no doubt gently floated into it by the waves of coercion being radiates in their direction. True to form, Draco was last.

"I…I'm sorry for what my father did to you."

"That's exactly it, Draco. You don't have to be sorry, but the fact that you are shows that you're better than him. You're a better person. All of you are better people than your parents. Your parents have little regard for you, which is horrifying, because you are all wonderful people. And the final testament of that will come soon enough. Today is the 10th of April. On the 15th, Voldemort is planning an attack on Hogwarts, the last bastion he could never conquer. When you stand against him, you will see who your parents side with and they will show their true colours. I won't ask you to kill them, but I will ask you to face them, because it will be good for you to face this fear."

"What if they kill us?" an older girl asked.

Deborah shook her head sadly. "This is war, and I cannot guarantee they won't. What I can promise is that standing with us you will be supported. You won't be alone. Standing with Voldemort means standing in a team of people who are all for themselves. They barely know one another, so why would they help one another? But I know all of you, and I promise I will do what a mother should do in such a situation. I will strive to die before any and all of you. That will protect you, as it did Harry Potter."


	15. What goes up

**Author's note:** okay long, long chapter, including information which we only find out in OotP, but I thought, what ther hell. Also, I purposely didn't even try to involve any of the things I believe JK will do for her ending, because I know I would fall hopelessly short.

Some people asked me some questions, so I'll answer them:

Stonecoldfox - I think that's the best compliment a writer can get for a character, that my character is so real. I believe this comes from the fact that her voice is so definite in my head. So clear that I actually hear and see her saying these things, all her inflections and mannerisms are very definite to me. I don't imagine anyone in particular, like an actor, in the role, but if I had to choose I would probably choose Helena Bonham Carter, but I imagine Deb taller. Emma Thompson would be good too, but as you say, sadly she's too old. Angelina Jolie could do it, maybe…I don't know…no one perfectly fits the bill.

Ana Morales – 'Prelude to a kiss' this title will make sense in this chapter.

To those of you who have complimented me, particularly those who tell me this is their favourite story of all time, (taijyasango, stonecoldfox) I am just delighted you're enjoying it. Now I feel like I have to live up to that, but that's my own neurosis talking there. I just hope everyone keeps on enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.

**Chapter 15 – What goes up…**

On the 13th of April, everyone at Hogwarts was stretched as thin as paper. Professor McGonagall couldn't get through a class without bursting into tears and Professor Flitwick had begun to stutter terribly. Many people had noticed the absence of certain Slytherins and rumors were beginning to fly about them being inducted into the death Eaters in time for the final battle.

"I dunno Hermione," Harry shook his head as they sat down to dinner, "It just sounds impossible. How is she going to change their minds?"

"Trust me," Hermione replied, "She can be very persuasive when she wants to be. Socrates himself would have trouble keeping up."

"Who in hell is Socrates?" Ron asked.

"Never mind," Hermione waved a hand, "The point is, when the time comes, they'll be right beside us, not their parents."

Professor Dumbledore stood up to speak to the students of Hogwarts. His ancient body stood before them with the spark of purpose in his eye.

"It seems unfair that I must do this to all of you, so young and untainted by the garish nature of war. You will all soon see the worst of it. My dear students, soon these walls will be faced again by the darkest of Dark Magic. Lord Voldemort will attempt to conquer Hogwarts, the last bastion of opposition, as he sees it."

There was a shudder or terrified whispering, and Dumbledore permitted it for some time, but soon silenced them with a calm wave of his hand.

"You will be asked to face him and his followers, you will most likely see many things that shouldn't be seen by anyone, not least young wizards and witches. The chance of death is substantial. But still it is unlikely. Wizards and Witches from around the world have descended on England and will soon be within these walls and will all stand to protect you from danger."

At that very moment, every member of the Order of the Phoenix burst through the doors, followed by a throng of people Hermione didn't recognize. The order itself had been expanded, there were many new members, but these people were new again, and came in all shapes and sizes.

"Ah, and here come our first platoon."

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin led the party to the front of the hall. Mundungus fletcher, Tonks, Arthur and Molly Weasley, even Arabella Figg, the well-known squib, was part of this quasi army. Ministry workers of all sorts had also turned up, though Cornelius Fudge was clearly absent. He had fled to China. 

Dumbledore waved his hand and a table appeared in front of the Staff table, where the group sat down. Almost directly afterwards the door once again burst open and in came Deborah and Professor Snape, followed by twelve new guests. Draco Malfoy et al were looking sad, but proud, maintaining dignity.

"Ah," Said Deborah, "I see we aren't the first to bring guests."

"Good Evening Deborah, I trust all is…as it should be."

"All is perfect, Albus. Everything is as it should be. Perhaps you would like to introduce my guests?"

"Certainly. Students, Deborah has brought with her twelve children of Death Eaters. They have chosen to fight with us against their parents, and we all ask that you treat them with due respect. It takes courage to stand up to an enemy, more to stand up to a friend and yet the most to stand up to one's parents. They have chosen to help us, to fight for justice and good, and you should understand how difficult that can be, after a life surrounded by evils."

There was a deathly and uncertain silence following Dumbledore's words. Hermione could hardly believe Deborah had managed it. She may have assured the boys, but she wasn't sure herself. But here they were, looking pale and unsure, slightly shy and most of all, penitent. She decided she must, as head girl and as one who suffered by the Death Eaters, show her respect. She slowly rose to her feet and began to clap. 

All eyes shot at her, but she looked only towards Deborah's group, who returned her gaze with awkward incomprehension. They didn't understand why she was clapping. Draco especially, seemed baffled by this. Deborah winked at her.

Harry clued in to Hermione's thoughts, bolted up, dragging Ron with him, and began to applaud. Ron too, when he was standing. The staff table and the guest table began to stand too. Ironically it was the Gryffindors who were the first students to stand, followed by Slytherin, then Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw; the sound of applause slowly beginning to ring louder and louder, like the first rains slowly building up to a tumultuous downpour. And when every soul in the hall was standing and cheering wildly, Deborah turned to her group and smiled. "All for one and one for all."

The next days followed quickly, the students being urged to take the new guests in with open arms. And so they did, as had been done at the Triwizard tournament. The Quidditch pitch was alive with action, as were rehearsals, which were being supervised by Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, though effectively directed by Dean, who was not actually playing a role. Were it not for the pending war, one might have thought Hogwarts a Magical utopia. Despite the reports of Azkaban being penetrated and prisoners escaping, there was laughter everywhere; the corridors positively rang with it. Harry himself, who knew he would be in the thickest of the thick of the battle, had lost himself many a time in a conversation with a Texan boy about the marvels of the Phantom broomstick. The teachers had now abandoned classes and were taking to simply acting like children. Professor Vector had charmed the lake outside to splash water on anyone who passed. Madame Pomfrey had put whoopee cushions in all the hospital wing beds.

But all was not well everywhere. In the deepest dungeons sat three morose figures in the light of one fireplace. One held a mask, one held a vial and one held a bottle of Whiskey.

"Okay Severus," Deborah poured three shots, "If ever there was a time to drink yourself silly, this would be the time, and I think, after all our hard work we deserve it. Hermione." She passed Hermione a shot glass, and offered Severus but he shook his head.

"I'd prefer not to."

"Hermione, this is one of those rare occasions in life where you see something you've always wanted to see, but once you see it you realize you don't want to see it because of what it means. Behold, Severus Snape is afraid."

"It's not a joke, Deborah, it's my life."

"I know that." She said seriously.

"Then why do you laugh at me?"

"I'm not laughing at you, Severus. I'm actually making Hermione see the gravity of the situation. Please have a drink." He took it but did not drink. Deborah, however, threw hers down her throat and threw the glass into the fireplace, where it shattered. "Go on, Hermione. Don't forget to throw the glass" She looked at it dubiously in the half-light of the fire, chucked it back and threw the glass, and hers too shattered. She felt like she'd been hit in the face.

"That's the way," Deborah nodded approvingly, "Severus, your turn."

He grudgingly sculled it, hardly effected by it's potency. He held the glass

"Is there something you want to say, Severus?" Deborah asked.

"No."

"You sure about that?" Deborah asked skeptically.

"I'm sure."

"Maybe you should have another drink. This time I think you should throw the glass at the fireplace. Nice and hard."

She took his shot glass from him and poured it to overflowing.

"Go on. If ever there was a time…"

He sat for a moment, looking at her. Hermione saw the fear and pain in his eyes. The same innocent sharpness there that she had seen when he'd woken from his coma. It was truly frightening, to see him frightened.

He snatched the glass and poured it down his throat, and quickly smashed the glass against the wall of the fireplace as he jumped restlessly to his feet.

"Now is there something you want to say?" Deborah repeated.

"If…If something goes wrong…" He paced along the fireplace wall.

"Nothing will go wrong." Deborah interjected

"But if it does, Deborah, if it does…" He sounded desperate, like a man on his deathbed, only with more energy, "I want you to stay here. I want you to teach here. And help Dumbledore."

"It won't be necessary, but, as you wish."

"And my money. You must both share it. Hermione, I want you to have Snape Manor."

"What?" What on earth was he talking about? What Manor? And what was he giving it to her for? What the hell was he on about?

"You have no home in the wizard world, nowhere to go after this. I want you to have mine if something happens."

"You know what would be more useful to this girl, Severus? If you offered her your home with you in it. It's all well and good to give her an empty house, but it's not going to be empty after the battle. And then what? You'll be alive and she'll still have nowhere to go."

"I have places to go," Hermione argued, "I'm sure I'd be welcome at Grimmauld place, or The Burrow, and I've still got my parents' house."

"You won't be happy in those places, Hermione. You don't need to be around while Harry and Ginny and bonking like rabbits, and the Burrow is absolutely crawling with all walks of life and death. Your parents' house is miles from the wizarding community. You need to be somewhere with your own space, but near your friends. Snape Manor can offer you those things, but it's not going to be empty. It will have a Snape in it."

"Are you suggesting Hermione come and live with me?!" Snape growled incredulously. "I can't conceive of anything less appropriate!"

"I can." Deborah replied. "_Not_ having her come and live with you. I'd offer my house but she'd be sleeping on books or on top of me. She'd have to wash her dishes and iron her clothes. At your house she is free to pursue worthy interests."

"She's my student."

"But she won't be soon."

He paused, glaring at Deborah, and pointed an accusing finger.

"You're just trying to keep me from thinking about it."

"Thinking about what?" Deborah asked innocently.

"You know what. What I have to do." He paced again.

"Can you blame me? And besides, now is as good a time as any to discuss what Hermione might want to do after Hogwarts."

"Why is she discussing it with us? She has her friends. She can discuss it with them."

"Yes, them. Who have as much experience as she does. Severus, you can't distance yourself from her just because you're toying with the idea that you might die. Now tell her she can move in with you."

He pinched the brow of his nose. "Hermione, if you want to move into Snape manor, you can do that…Whether or not I am there."

"What about me?" Deborah asked.

"What about you?"

"Can I move in?"

"You've got a house!" He was very frustrated.

"So?"

"So what do you need mine for!"

"I don't _need_ anything. But maybe I _want_ to move in. I think it would be good for us. For all of us."

"You're an abominable pain in the arse, Deborah. Move in if you want. But you'll have to ask Hermione, if it's her house."

"What do you think Hermione?"

Hermione felt like she'd been hit in the face…a number of times. She'd started this evening off with no conceptions of the future whatsoever. Now was in line to inherit a Manor, half a fortune and was being asked for lodgings. Soon they'd be arranging her marriage.

"If you want…I suppose. But only if you agree to stop making bets, Deborah. Neither of us need another tattoo. And only if Severus agrees to…smile, once in a while."

Deborah nodded keenly, whereas Severus merely crossed his arms and dipped his head curtly. There was a period of silence, in which Hermione looked dubiously between Deborah and Severus, Severus glared irately at Deborah and Hermione, and Deborah grinned manically at Hermione and Severus. Deborah slowly lifted herself from her chair and began to sing one hell of an infernal song, commonly pertaining to one purple dinosaur.

"_I love you, you love me,_

_We're one happy family…"_

"Gods, Deborah don't," Severus groaned. She put an arm around his shoulder and beckoned Hermione, who slowly, hesitantly got to her feet. As she approached, Deborah threw her other arm around Hermione and continued.

"_With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you,_

_Won't you say you love me too? _And again! Sing it with me!"

Deborah sang loud and long, Hermione sang timidly and Severus growled softly and furiously. How he knew it, Hermione wasn't sure, but hearing him sing it was scarier than the fear in his eyes, that was for sure.

After five rounds of the most annoying song in history, Deborah released them and they sat down again. Deborah poured a few more rounds, which were all subsequently consumed and shattered in the fireplace. They began to laugh after a while, they joked and teased each other, and Severus did actually smile once or twice. But in a lull in the conversation, he suddenly changed the mood.

"I think I'm going to die tomorrow."

"What makes you think that?" Deborah slid off her chair and onto the ground.

"I think I'm going to make it back to Hogwarts, but as soon and Voldemort is gone, Lucius or someone will realize it was my doing and kill me."

"That is a legitimate fear, but one that we can protect you from."

"How?"

"It's in Hermione's hand right now." She pointed to the vial Hermione held. "We made more than enough. I think you, Hermione and I could all have and there'd still be plenty for Voldemort. Of course, if someone tried to kill you, you'd need another dose…"

"Hold on Deborah," Hermione butted in, "Why didn't we make enough for everyone? Then no one would have to die."

Deborah sighed. "It doesn't quite work that way, Hermione. What if people don't want to live for one hundred and twenty years? Dumbledore doesn't want to, for one. And besides, to give it to everyone would be to disturb the natural fabric of life. That's why I haven't taken it myself before now, and why my parents didn't take it."

"Then why do you have it?"

"We used it when people got sick, or if someone went away and we wanted them to come back. But it's a more complex thing than that, Hermione. This potion, it's ancient. It goes back more than three thousand years to my ancestors who were leaders of their community. The people decided that they wanted their leaders to live for as long as possible because my family was so good at it. One after the other all counseled the people and kept the peace. So naturally, the people wanted to have them around for as long as possible. So a very clever man by the name of Jareth, he made this potion, with slightly different ingredients. Over the years it has been altered for the better, and my family has only ever used it when in the capacity of a leader to a people. To simply dish it out to everyone would be wrong."

"But Voldemort is evil. And wrong."

"And two wrongs don't make a right. You didn't listen to me in our lessons, did you? I said what makes this world is not good or evil, but a balance. Voldemort may do wrong, but we will win by doing right. Trust me, I've thought about this already."

"It just seems so unfair."

"Excuse me," Severus leaned in aggressively, "Could we perhaps return to me?"

"You're so self-centred, Severus," Deb sighed, took the potion from Hermione and gave it to him. "Well go on then, drink it."

"What if I don't want to live another hundred and twenty years?"

"Well, you're going to have to choose, Severus. Possible death or prolonged life. What's it gonna be?"

He looked at the potion for some time, inspecting the clear, watery liquid. He wondered if it was what he wanted, more life, when it had been so cruel to him already. Why, when he hated his life already, was it so hard to consciously choose to face death? He knew why. It was, to his great annoyance, that infernal song. _I love you, you love me_… Deb did it on purpose, like everything else. She'd made him feel like he would be missed. Like her life would be lacking without him. And she'd dragged Hermione into the equation, poor girl. He knew he had some responsibility to her now, but did it include this? Would these two women make his life better or worse? Would they make or mar him? Was it worth finding out?

Apparently Deborah got tired of waiting. "For fuck's sake, Severus, after all we've been through. JUST DRINK THE BLOODY POTION!"

She ripped it from his hand, pinched his nose until he opened his mouth and then poured it down his gaping throat. He gulped and struggled and choked, but it all went down, the faint metallic taste of blood on his tongue, mingled with the taste of the smell of the first day of spring.

"There," She said triumphantly, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

The next morning, on the very day of, Dumbledore insisted that every person on the grounds be in the Great Hall from two o'clock onwards. Deborah and Tonks organized games and sang songs and generally kept everyone's spirits up. The women seemed to have inordinate energy. It spilled forth from their being at every opportunity. They hardly knew each other, but it hardly mattered. They appeared somehow to be kindred spirits, friends from another life.

At five o'clock, Severus very quietly exited through a side door. Hermione instantly looked to Deborah, who lifted her sunglasses, smiled and winked. Hermione was heartened and turned her energy back to Harry, who was tensing and looking very pale indeed. Everyone was sitting around him, All the Weasleys, Sirius, Remus, Arabella Figg, and Hermione.

"Harry, You're going to do us proud," Molly said firmly, "You're going to save the world." 

"You did it once without even knowing it," Bill reminded him, "You can do it again tonight."

"It's not the same and you all know it. What if I get it wrong? What if this new wand doesn't work? What if he doesn't do what he expects? What if I sneeze?"

Dumbledore had given him a new wand. One that wouldn't react as his normal one had done last time.

"Come on Harry," Ron punched him cheerfully in the arm, "D'you really think Dumbledore would put you through this if he didn't think you could do it?"

"Ron's right," Hermione agreed, "Dumbledore wouldn't make you do this unless he was absolutely confident it would work. And it will."

Harry was silent. He was silent all through dinner, and all through Dumbledore's explanation of what would happen. The tables were magicked away and everyone was put in a particular position. The muggle-born students were all boxed in by the wizard-born students, who were boxed in by the teachers and other wizards. Dumbledore was at the back, With Remus and Sirius on either side, and Deborah at the front. On either side of Deborah were the twelve Death Eater children, and Harry, on her right side. Hagrid had positioned a number of magical creatures outside the castle walls. His negotiations had been very successful and had managed to recruit quite few, but some for some high prices. There were Dragons, Hippogriffs and Trolls, but he had even convinced a number of Centaurs and Giants to join them, plus Aragog and his larger children, who obviously had a bone to pick with Voldemort. There were also creatures that Hermione had only ever seen in books. Chimeras, with lions' heads and serpents' tails. There were Gryphons, Manticores and Scorpion men, who all looked particularly angry. They weren't going to hold the death eaters off for long, but it could take a few of the inexperienced fighters out. However all the animals had been told not to harm Severus, who had tied a red handkerchief to his robe to be sure they could tell him apart.

New wards had been put on the castle, which would also cut Voldemort's army down. The entrance hall was booby trapped with all kinds of dangers. Gases to cause all kinds of damage, flagstones that had been charmed to bite whole legs off, windows that took heads off. Severus, of course, had charmed his mask to repel gas, and knew exactly how to get around the traps. 

They all talked quietly, anxiously, absently, trying to keep as far away from the truth of their predicament. It was like being in a U-boat before hitting the shore. All was Quiet on the Hogwarts front. But Deborah was talking, assuring Harry and giving him a blessing. She put her hands on his head.

"This is a very old blessing. It was given to warriors before battle." She spoke first in an ancient language, uttering every word into his uncomprehending eyes. He had an urge to turn away, but his urge to maintain eye contact was greater. And then it was over, and she continued. "What I said was this: May the Gods bless and keep you, may they give you sight where others are blind. May they firm your footsteps and give you strength when you are weary. You will walk and they will deliver you from terror. They will save you from all troubles. Blessed be. Whether or not you believe in it, Harry, it can't hurt to have all bases covered. Are you afraid?"

He nodded, unable to speak.

"Well, at least we know you haven't lost your mind, right? Do you still want to do this?"

He nodded again.

"You don't have to if you don't want to. I could do it, or Albus, or Severus even—"

"I'll do it."

It felt good to hear himself say it. Somehow it strengthened his resolve, to hear himself so confident. And at that very moment a soft bell rang through the hall, throwing a sheet of silence over all.

"Lord Voldemort approaches," Dumbledore declared. Everyone, wands out!"

Everyone whipped a wand out. Even Neville remembered to bring his. Hermione was very grateful for the blessing Deborah had given her and Severus. It was no immortality potion, but there was something comforting about it. A sort of placebo effect.

A rumbling sound vibrated through the foundations of the building, slowly increasing and becoming more detailed. The shrieks of Banshees and Gorgons was clear over the human shouting and yelling.

"The beasts have eliminated at least fifty of them." Dumbledore was using a sort of magical surveillance system. There were mirrors on the outer walls of the Castle that were reflecting everything back to a mirror in his hand. "Ah, but the Scorprion men have only just begun. They seem to have detained the Banshees. The Gorgons are having trouble with the Gryphons. The Dementors, however, are not being stopped. Fortunately we have cast the Patronus Domus spell on the castle. We shall probably be left to deal with about one hundred Death Eaters."

"Well, there are about one hundred fully grown wizards here, not counting the seventh years and the kids," Deborah replied, "It should be an even fight."

"Let us hope the entrance hall is as effective as the beasts." Dumbledore switched mirrors to view the scene in the Entrance Hall as the rumble of battle grew closer and louder.

"Dumbledore, why don't you show everyone what's happening," Remus cried, "The Patronus Domus is a sight to behold."

Dumbledore muttered something to the mirror and it threw its light onto the huge doors to the hall. It showed a huge, muscle-bound man, entirely made of light, who was charging his sword at the dementors. He was completely brutal with them, his strength far outweighing theirs. Hermione attributed this to the fact that so many wonderful things had happened in Hogwarts over the years. The Patronus had hence grown very strong. A Patronus Domus thrives on good times in the building it protects, and can grow to be strong enough to destroy a Dementor, just as this one was. It was absolutely obliterating them, turning them into smoke.

Hermione, however, was watching another part of the scene. Voldemort, closely followed by Severus and the higher Death Eaters, was nearing the door. There were two vicious thuds on the door, and then it was blasted open by Lord Voldemort himself, who was looking triumphant and supreme. His followers soon banded together, and it became clear that there were less than expected. About seventy Death Eaters were standing behind Voldemort, all looking as though they were ready to tear everyone apart. Hermione recognized a few body shapes. She saw the tall, imposing figures of the senior Malfoys, Pettigrew's short, measly body, not to mention Severus and his red handkerchief.

"You've lost, you old fool!" Voldemort crowed over the crowd. It doesn't matter how many of those others you kill. My faithful Death Eaters are still beside me."

"Yes," Deborah interrupted calmly, "Death Eaters. Have you noticed your children are here beside me?"

"Who are you?" Voldemort demanded, as some of his followers recognised their children.

"Excuse me," Deborah said politely, "I wasn't talking to you. Could you wait a moment please? Death Eaters, your children, can you see?"

Voldemort was furious. He pointed his wand at her, hurling all kinds of hexes, which she neatly deflected or avoided. In the meantime, the Death Eaters pushed forward, looking at their children in disbelief.

"Are you ready to kill your own children, Death Eaters? Because I told them that if you truly loved them, you would never point your wands at them."

"Draco!" Lucius angrily, "What are you doing?"

"What I should have done long ago!" Draco called back, on the verge of tears, "I'm NOT making the mistake you made!"

"And you're going to kill him for it." Deborah concluded.

"Crucio!" Voldemort screamed in Deborah's direction. She howled painfully, her body tensed up and she fell to her knees, convulsing heavily. "My faithful servants, kill! Kill them all!" But only the ones without children. With a grand chorus of Expelliarmus, Death Eater wands went flying from every direction and were safely directed by Dumbledore into one of the fireplaces. There was a huge clash and spells shot around the hall like different coloured golden snitches. The crazier Death Eaters simply tried to blast away whole sections of people. the older good wizards threw hexes and binding curses at the enemy, some of whom were so scared that they jumped through the windows. They just weren't ready for battle. The Beasts were waiting for them. But everyone ran out and hurled themselves onto the enemies, stupefying them and re-stupefying them, binding them and rebinding them, giving them sleeping potions and whatever was on hand. All that were left were the parents of the children, Severus and Voldemort.

"What are you waiting for? Destroy the children!" He still held Deborah under his curse, and she was now on her stomach, her face pressed to the floor. She turned haltingly to the children and whispered, "It's now or never kids." And as though his by a universal epiphany, all twelve screamed with all their hearts "AVADA KEDAVRA!!!!!" 

The hall filled with bright green jets of light and a great wind nearly blew everyone off the feet. But when the light normalized, twenty-four death eaters were dead on the floor, their eyes wide with the rush of death.

"You can kill all my servants, but I am stronger than ever. I do not need them. All of you together could not destroy me! And now, to Harry Potter." Voldemort turned his wand on Harry and released Deborah, "I do hope I find you well. You couldn't have found me at a better time. I'm better than ever. I'm immortal. I'm going to live forever and rule the world with the true hand of power. No one can stop me. But first I'm going to kill you and that old fool. And then everyone else…Starting with that whore on the floor."

He pointed at Deborah, but looked at Dumbledore, whose eyes were blazing with energy.

"As long as I am alive, you will do no such thing." Dumbledore began to walk towards Voldemort.

"How will you stop me, Dumbledore? You'll soon be dead too. You can't do anything once you're obliterated by my spell."

There was a hail of manic laughter, but oddly enough it was not Voldemort. It was a mellow feminine laughter. Deborah sat up and grinned her huge grin. "Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. You talk the talk, but do you walk the walk?"

Voldemort's mad, red eyes were aflame with irritation.

"Severus, who is this impertinent woman?"

Severus sighed and removed his mask. "She is Deborah Daniels, daughter of Jareth and Ruth Daniels, from whom we stole the potion recipe. She is responsible for this. It is from her we obtained the potion."

"Kill her." Voldemort ordered, "You will kill her and everyone else here, but not before I duel with Harry Potter."

Dumbledore came forward through the crowd and put his hand on Harry shoulder.

"Yes, Harry. Why don't you duel with Tom Riddle?"

"I am Lord Voldemort!" he chuckled. "I have not been Tom Riddle for many years, Albus."

"True enough," Deborah sighed, "But all is not as it may seem. Go on then, have your duel."

Harry stepped forward and bowed. Voldemort laughed derisively and bowed mockingly in return. For a man alone in a room full of enemies, he was extraordinarily cocky and arrogant. Hermione supposed he thought he had reason to be so, but it just seemed sad and pathetic. 

"On the count of three, cast your spell," Voldemort ordered as they assumed starting positions, "One, two—"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!!!!" They had said it unison, completely disregarding three. There was another explosion of green light that consumed Harry, Voldemort, Severus and Deborah, but threw everyone else backwards. Another great gust of wind rushed past and there was a loud, high pitched keening from within the cloud of light. Slowly it dissipated, and the keening subsided, exposing the outcome. There on the floor lay Voldemort's body, sprawled across the floor, his fiery eyes now stone cold. And at Harry's feet, crumpled, face down and motionless, lay Deborah Daniels.

Dumbledore hastened to Harry and made sure he was alright.

"She threw herself in front of me…the spell…she…"

Severus ran to her body and kneeled beside her, raising her face to him. He lightly brushed the stray hairs out of her face.

"Deborah…" He whispered, "Deborah, wake up…" Hermione pushed through the crowd and kneeled on Deborah's other side. She lightly shook her arm, her limp, lifeless arm.

"Get up, Deb!" She whimpered. "You must get up!" Tear pooled and blurred her vision, "Deb, wake up!"

Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked into Dumbledore's solemn face.

"Hermione…" He murmured. But she wasn't interested.

"Deborah! Wake up right now!" The tears fell and landed on Deborah's tattooed arm. She felt the eyes watching her, but she didn't care. "Deborah! Deborah…" She threw her arms over Deborah's body and weeped, while Severus continued to brush away hairs. All of a sudden there was a burst of mellow, feminine laughter that shook the body Hermione was resting on. Hermione jumped off and saw Deborah's recently deceased face was now utterly overflowing with laughter. Deborah's deceased body hauled itself up into sitting position, and her deceased arms slapped her deceased thighs in hysterics.

"Sorry," her deceased mouth said, "I couldn't resist." Everyone simply stared at her in disbelief and confusion. She had survived the curse…_how_?

"Deborah?" Severus inquired, "How did you---"

But Deborah just beamed at him and pat him on the shoulder.

"Severus," Dumbledore sighed, "She took the potion. She tricked us." Severus rose to his feet angrily, regaining his firm presence.

"Come on," Deborah chuckled, "You've got to admit that was funny."

"Funny?" Severus growled, "That isn't funny, Deborah. It's wrong to toy with people's emotions."

 "Well, a year from now you'll think it's funny." She jumped to her feet and looked around. "What's everybody waiting for? Death Eaters are still here."

"I think they want an explanation," Hermione offered angrily.

"Explanations later. Death Eater disposal now."

People began to move. The death Eaters were put in cuffs and attached to a long chain. The older wizards and Aurors put a spell on them that mimicked the effects of a Dementor's kiss temporarily, then led them out of the castle grounds, where they would apparate to Ministry Headquarters. A real Dementor was waiting for them there.

Those that were dead were taken outside where Filch and Mundungus Fletcher were building a large bonfire for bodies of death eaters. Severus and Harry took Voldemort's body out. Professor McGonagall helped Draco take his parents out, and Hermione helped a young French girl take her father. There was also a procession of black wagons to take the dead to a cemetery. Among the mourners were the Weasleys, who solemnly took Percy's body out, and Albus took his brother Aberfoth. Some younger students fell victim too. Three third-years and two fourth-years and four fifth-years, whose fellow classmates carried them outside, supporting those in tears.

There was a brief period of small talk when Aurors and others departed to spread the good news. It didn't seem as though they'd just won the fight. It seemed as though they'd only just begun it and it was already over. Nobody knew exactly how to feel.

Hermione, however, was furious. How could Deborah do that to her? How could she make her think that she had…it was horrible to do that to someone. It was just wrong. So while Dumbledore prepared to speak to everyone, she followed Deborah out of the hall and told her so. She screamed at her that she was very irresponsible, that it was wrong and definitely not funny, no matter how you looked at it. And all the while Deborah looked at her seriously, not whispering a word. Even when she finished, Deborah said nothing.

"Well?" Hermione prompted her huffily.

"Well what?"

"Well, what have you got to say for yourself?"

"At times like these my brother would have said, 'When in doubt, have a pickle."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Hermione yelled.

"You know, pickled cucumbers…gherkins…whatever you call them. My brother used to say, when in doubt, have a—"

"I don't care about pickles! I care about you!"

Deborah looked at her momentarily, and smiled a warm, happy smile. Not loony or maniacal, but a calm, motherly smile.

"What are you smiling about?" Hermione demanded.

"Hermione cares about me." And she gave her a big hug. And she didn't let go. At first Hermione tried to escape, but it was no use. The damn woman was strong. So she gave into it tired of being angry.

"I thought you were dead." Hermione said, nearly a sob.

"O Ye of little faith. Didn't I tell you it would all work out alright in the end?"

"I didn't believe you."

"Honestly," Deborah sighed, "No one ever learns. I'm always right."


	16. Measure, Time and Place

**Author's note:** Yay! I finished. It was a long haul, but I did it. Thankyou to everyone who ever reviewed or even read it. It has been a great learning experience and I'm so pleased you all came along. Just a note on the previous chapter: What some of you perceived as errors, were not perfectly errors, but bad writing, for which I am still to blame. Unfortunately I don't have a beta and I have little time to check, so I'm sorry, but I just so wanted to get it out there. How selfish of me, I know. That being said, I'm sorry if that is the case with this chapter as well.

And now, for the last time... enjoy.

Everything, apart from minor additions here and there, belongs to they who must be deeply respected, JK Rowling and George Bernard Shaw. All thanks to them and my computer.

**Chapter 16 – Measure, Time and Place**

It had been hard to get back to normal life in the days proceeding. The visiting wizards went home, the house-elves set about cleaning up, the teachers removed all the traps and Hagrid took the beasts away. (Hermione had a sneaking suspicion he was going to keep some.) Everything seemed so bizarre. Like life was now in slow-motion. People could hardly look each other in the eye, and nobody knew why. It was such a foreign thing, nobody quite knew what to do with themselves. Slowly, slowly, people began to return to themselves, and surprisingly, it was Harry who seemed to have suffered the least. He attributed it to mental retardation.

"I'm sure there's something wrong with me, I mean, how many times can I be hit with Avada Kedavra and not be mildly injured. But it's not doing me any harm at the moment, is it."

Within two weeks, though, the stench of death had lifted, and slowly everyone had been raised through levels of happiness into sheer euphoria. The walls of Hogwarts now seemed stronger than ever, somehow expanded and warmed by the heat of battle. Exams had been cancelled, considering all students who had been present at the battle were receiving honorary passes in the lower years, and honorary OWL's and NEWT's in the higher levels. (Hermione had been disappointed, but couldn't be for long, with all the fun going on around her.) Classes had been replaced by music and comedy and all sorts of entertainment, making the school more resemble a circus and fair. And there wasn't a sad face to be seen. Even the children of death eaters were happy, shades of relief brushed over their faces.

However, in private quarters, there was one face who was not smiling. Deborah had decided to go to bed that night and hadn't woken up since. Though when Severus visited her, there was a faint smile on her unconscious face. It was Severus who couldn't find the heart to smile. He simply sat beside her, not sure whether to love or hate her, thank or blame her.

That morning Severus heard a knock on the door of Deb's chambers, followed by it opening and shutting, followed by the entrance of Hermione. She had had a big fat smile on her face and was holding a bunch of flowers and a tray of pancakes.

"Oh, hello Sir," She said, reverting to calling him sir now that all was said and done. "I just thought I'd check in. Deb said she was going to wake up today."

"I know," He replied.

"I brought her some pancakes."

"Yes, I see that. I seem to recall the maniac likes pancakes."

"Yes, she does. I'd be careful Sir, knowing her, she might be awake right now and listening to us."

"You're right, that would be so very like her. And don't call me sir," he murmured, "You'll have to get used to my name if you're going to live in my house."

Hermione carefully put the tray down on the bedside table and opened the window slightly.

"You're still… alright with that?" She said carefully.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I thought it might have been a heat of the moment thing, trying to get Deb off your back."

"It was. But…as much as I loathe to admit it, Deborah is right, we both have an obligation to you. It is clear that you need a home, so mine is open to you. I think I shall be able to tolerate you."

"Yes," Said Deborah, pushing herself to a sitting position in her bed, "But can you tolerate me?"

"That is another matter altogether," Severus crossed his arms, "We shall put you in a wing on the other side of the house, somewhere with lots of doors to confuse you and lots of thick walls so we can't hear you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus," Deborah replied, rolling a pancake into a tube and consuming half of it in a bite, "They can hear me in Peru. Tell me, why do I get out of bed? I enjoy bed so much, it is so good, there really is nothing better, and yet I get up every day to face the world. What's with that?"

"It's called reality, Deborah, some of us live in it."

"Yes but why? Bed is so much better. OOH! OOH! OOH!" Deb suddenly started wiggling in her bed and thumping the bed. The musical! It's in three days, isn't it? Let's go! We've got to rehearse!"

She threw the covers off her bed revealing her completely naked body, covered only by the tattoos.

"For gods' sake, Deborah!" Severus snapped, "There are people in the room!"

"So, we're all girls here." She grinned back at him as she found some clothes between the piles of books.

At dinner that evening, after a full day's rehearsing with Severus and three nights before the performance, Dumbledore tinkled his glass with his fork, and Deborah shot out of her seat to speak.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, tonight I am going to give you what you have all been waiting for. Tonight you are going to find out who is to play your lead roles."

There was a burst of applause that accompanied Hermione's flipping stomach.

"In my infinite wisdom I have kept this secret from you, but now, I shall reveal all. Get ready for this. Is everybody sitting down? Yes? Good. I'll ask my actors to come and join me here when I say their names. Now, ladies first, I think. Students, Teachers, behold Eliza Dolittle…Hermione Granger." Deborah signaled in her direction and all heads swiveled in unison to stare at her in absolute shock as she stood up and began to walk. For a moment there was dead silence, but Harry, Ron and Ginny led the Gryffindors in applause, in which everybody followed, eventually. Hermione walked up to Deborah, who was, once again, grinning like an idiot and put her arm around Hermione's shoulder.

"And Ladies and Gentlemen, my personal favourite, promising to be he jewel in the crown of he performance, Henry Higgins himself, Severus Snape!"

If ever there was a stunned silence. Severus stood and came to join them before the school. Dumbledore began to clap quietly, followed by confused but supportive Slytherins, and eventually everyone, who weren't clapping because they liked him, but because they felt obliged.

"No, no, NO!!!" Deborah stamped her foot angrily. "Nobody trusts me! What do you have to do around here to get some trust?! Nobody thinks they can do it! Well, you two, show them you can do it. Town hall scene, up to Pickering, go!"

"What, now?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, right now. Show them you can do this.  I'll do all the sundry parts." Deborah leaned in to Hermione, who was terrified, "Don't worry, Hermione, you'll be fine.  I'm the only one here worth worrying about."

Deborah leaned back against the staff table and left them to it. She began it.

"Oh sir, is there any sign of it stopping?" That was all it took for Hermione to get back into it. They played out the whole scene flawlessly (or so she thought) up to when Pickering enters, at which point Deborah stopped them.

"What did you think, folks?"

And the hall erupted into almost violent applause absolutely flabbergasted. Hermione looked to Severus, who seemed as discomfited by the attention as she was, and he looked to her. She smiled weakly and shrugged, and he smiled a small, almost undetectable smile. Yes, indeed, the world was a fine place.

Three days past in a flurry of rehearsals and building and music and dancing and lots of things that faded quickly in Hermione's memory, because it was all so rushed and nerve-racking. Ginny and Dean (who was somewhat peeved at not being told who the main characters were) were now modifying the costumes he'd pre-made to fit Hermione and Severus. Severus had hat marvelous tweed suit for the beginning, a brown suit for the rest of the time and a crisp, sharp suit outfit for the ball. Dean was tip-toeing around Severus, trying not to annoy the man, who was holding himself stiff, practically ingoring him. He'd told Dean that, "One hand out of place and you can kiss it goodbye." Which had set him a little on edge.

Hermione was trying on her grubby Violet-girl dress, a dress for the rest of the time, the dress for the races and the dress for the ball. Ginny tittered around her, pulling this and adjusting that, making everything look fantastic. She changed colours here and there, pu embroidery and played a bit with everything, Hermione rarely interjecting with her opinions, some of which were heeded.

By the time she was ready to try on the ball gown, Severus was sitting lazily in the mirrored room, and Deborah had come to have Dean fit her Queen-of-Transylvania gown and tiara and was now prancing around practicing her queen walk, trying to decide whether o not to keep the tattoos visible. (Dean had absolutely insisted they go away.) Meanwhile Ginny helped her into the ball gown and shoes. It was a beautiful dress. Identical to the one Audrey Hepburn had worn in the movie. But she didn't know if it looked haggard on her. It was a very particular dress and looked good on very particular people. But Ginny's response was heartening. She was about to come outside when Deborah stopped her.

"Wait a minute Hermione. Severus, piss off."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said piss off. I don't want you to see her in the gown. I want it to be a complete surprise to you when you see her on stage."

Hermione heard him leave with a narky click of his tongue and Deborah gave her the all-clear. Ginny opened the curtain and she gingerly walked out, trying to avoid stepping on the dress, the edge of the heel or anything else that might cause her to destroy her dress and her dignity.

"absolutely stunning," admired Dean, smiling happily.

"Yes, it's fantastic," Ginny agreed, "I don't really need to do anything to it."

"Deb?" Hermione prompted. She smiled for a moment, but stopped.

"No." She said, turning away to her clothes.

"No?" Dean said indignantly, "No? what do you mean, no?"

"I mean it's no good." She said simply, now furrowing through her jacket.

"What's wrong with it?!" Ginny exclaimed.

"It's not finished."

"HOW IS IT NOT FINISHED?!" Dean simmered.

Deb ignored him, still furrowing. "I had it in here somewhere…I certainly didn't lose---ah!" She finally said, grabbing something, "Here it is." She withdrew a fairly large blue velvet case, about the size of a large novel. One wouldn't have thought it would fit in Deb's pocket, but Hermione knew better than that.

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"It is the finishing touch," Said Deborah, and she opened the box.

Inside sat a diamond necklace with diamonds forming curls and twists around a slightly larger ruby. It ran from about the middle of her neck to an inch and a half beneath her collar bone, and sparkled violently. In its simplicity lay its elegance, the power of restraint showing the jewelers true prowess.

"It's absolutely magnificent!" Ginny whispered in awe.

"And, Hermione," Deborah said, carefully removing it from it's resting place, "it's yours."

"Mine?" Hermione repeated in disbelief.

"Yes, yours. I was going to borrow it, but then I thought, what the hell. There is never too much beauty in life. Now what shall we do with her hair, Ginny?"

"I was thinking something along the lines of this." She pulled out a drawing, which Hermione couldn't see, but Dean and Deb both approved. Ginny pointed her wand at Hermione and said a spell Hermione didn't recognize (clearly she would have to go through those witch beauty books) and felt her hair rise off her shoulders and into some form on her head.

"Yes," Deborah nodded and approached with the necklace, "And now, the final piece." She carefully wrapped it around Hermione's neck, hooked it together, and stood back in satisfied awe, Ginny and Dean flanking her. They all stared at her, smiling blissfully. Hermione, having not seen herself, wandered over to the full-length mirror and was nearly floored by her own appearance. She looked like a completely different person. Like someone thoroughly acquainted with going to balls and entertaining lots of people. Her hair was neatly arranged in a carefully placed bun with some plaits running through it. It was almost impossible to describe to complexity. The dress did not look haggard on her. In fact she complimented herself enough to say it sat perfectly on her and flattered her figure. And the necklace truly was the finishing piece, it made everything else look as it should.

She turned back to Deborah, who was still smiling.

"What do you think?"

"What do I think?" Deborah held up her hands to frame Hermione in her vision, like a photograph. "I think…perfect."

Rehearsals rehearsals rehearsals. Because Severus and Hermione hadn't rehearsed before with the cast, it was a rush to get them into being with other people. To Hermione's great surprise, it was easier than she thought it would be. Everyone was so well-practised it fell together quite nicely. It was odd to see Neville looking sixty at dress rehearsals. (Deb forbade Hermione to wear the ball gown) Not to mention to see Severus respond to Professor McGonagall as her son, Ron and Harry done up in posh old suits and everyone in general turning their noses up. Quite bizarre.

And before she could say, "How kind of you to let me come," parents and friends were piling into the great hall (which had been rearranged into a stage and audience) Hermione could see from behind the curtain that all the resemblances of children to their parents, like Colin Creevey's weedy-looking parents talking to Angelina's tall, powerful-looking mother. It was, in a way, quite funny.

There was, however, one conspicuous absence in Hermione's eye. She couldn't stop her eyes watering when she remembered her parents weren't coming. But instead of actually crying, she smiled. She didn't quite know why, but she smiled, and thought of them smiling at her, being proud of her…

There was a tap on her shoulder. She turned around, and Severus was standing behind her, holding a bunch of violets.

"You dropped these."

She smiled and took them from him. He bet his head for a moment and looked her in the eye.

"It is when we are happiest that we feel the greatest longing, for we want to share the happiness. Do not dwell on it, for they live in you and your happiness."

She couldn't help but let the tears fall, not really out of sadness, but out of joy. He carefully took her in his arms and laughed softly.

"You can't cry now. Miss Weasley will destroy you if she finds out you've ruined your make-up."

Hermione laughed and drew back.

"I'll be alright."

"Good. Because you can't expect any support from me. I am Professor Higgins," he proclaimed, putting his hat on his head, "And I don't care for anybody."

"An' I am Eliza Dolittle, an' I doun' care tha' fo' ya' big talk!"

"Ready?" Asked Deb, jogging up to them.

"Yes," They said in unison.

"Good. Dean, drop the lights."

The lights immediately dimmed to darkness and the rabble outside ceased.

"Break a leg, Deborah," Hermione said as Deb walked out to introduce them.

There was a long bank of applause for her and she waved it away carelessly.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, my name is Deborah Daniels and I am the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher here at Hogwarts. This past year, has been possibly the hardest for everyone in our community, not to mention for adolescent students. And yet, we still managed to put on this production and if I do say so myself, It is brilliant. Ladies and Gentlemen, this evening's performance is My Fair Lady."

To Hermione's great shock, many people clapped excitedly. Apparently there were more wizards than she thought that went to the cinema…or at least used to.

"I will say no more. Let the show begin!"

Deborah jumped off stage and the curtain rose on Covent Garden.

It was hard after that to spare a moment to think. Her concentration was rarely broken. In fact it was only twice. Once when she first came on stage as Eliza and people whispered curiously, and once when one of her petticoats felt like it was coming loose. While she was on stage, her mind was rolling along with the dialogue, trying not to register the reaction of the audience when they laughed or whispered. (Her favourite moment, of course, was when Higgins got excited to see Pickering. She'd never seen Severus so happy to see Neville in her life.) The moment she was off stage, somebody telling her something or adjusting her costume or fixing her make-up. They flowed through the whole first act that way, and everyone was enormously surprised that they'd come to intermission without a hitch, and left the stage to deafening applause.

Deborah came backstage and everyone crowded around.

"Well done, everyone, you've made it to half-way."

Everyone applauded themselves at that.

"Don't get too excited, you've still got another half to go. But keep it up, because it's brilliant, you're all fantastic. Couldn't fault any one of you if I tried. Now get to it, costume changes. Lights go back down in ten minutes."

Hermione suddenly remembered she now had to put on the ball gown. Properly. With all the pieces and in front of everyone. Ginny quickly ushered her into one of the makeshift change-rooms and they dressed her, put on her shoes, charmed her hair into it's complex formation, fixed her make-up and…

"Where's the necklace?" Ginny whispered desperately.

"Deb's got it, go find her!"

Ginny ducked out quickly and returned a minute later with Deb in tow.

"I forgot I had it," Deb smiled cheerfully. She pulled the box to and quickly fastened the necklace around Hermione's neck. Once again, she and Ginny stood back admiringly, just watching her.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"Absolutely gorgeous!" Deborah said, "I am so smart."

"It's funny how this becomes about you, Deb." Hermione retorted.

"Ooooh…" Deb responded with a cheeky grin, "meow! Somebody's just got her claws out."

The stage bell rang and lights dimmed and they all ran into the wings, Severus and Neville taking there positions on the stage. The lights went up in the interior of 27A Wimpole street, where Professor Higgins was pacing.

"_Higgins. Higgins!" Neville shouted at him in a way no one would expect of Neville__. If there's any mishap at the Embassy tonight, if Miss Doolittle suffers any embarrassment whatever, it'll be on your head alone_."

"_Oh, Eliza can do anything_." He replied calmly.

"_Suppose she's discovered? Remember Ascot? Suppose she makes another ghastly mistake?"_

"_There'll be no horses at the ball, Pickering_." That was Hermione's favourite line. And he did it so well.

They bantered on for some time, Pickering on the end of his nerves, Higgins pacing constantly. With a squeeze of the shoulder from Deb, Hermione climbed the stairs that led to the stairs on stage and waited for her cue.

"_And what about the girl?__ You act as though she doesn't matter at all_."

This was it. Higgins had his little exposition of self-defence, and then she would walk on. 

"_Oh, rubbish, Pickering. Of course she matters. What do you think I've been doing all these months? What could possibly matter more than to take a human being, and change her into a different human being by creating a new speech for her? It's filling up the deepest gap that separates class from class and soul from soul. Oh, she matters immensely."_

And as he said those last words, the curtains were drawn away and she walked forward to the top of the stairs, her heart thumping, hoping she wouldn't do something horribly embarrassing like step on her gown. Amidst the whispers from the audience, she looked down to where Higgins, Pickering, Mrs Pearce and the Butler were waiting for her, and Severus, Neville, Madame Pomfrey and Harry's faces were upturned in fascinated awe. She slowly descended to them, maintaining her grace, restored by their looks of wonder. Mrs Pearce put her cloak on her, and Higgins began to walk to the door…but stopped himself. Severus turned back and offered her his arm.

The rest of the musical was thoroughly enjoyable, even having the temper tantrum with Higgins about what would become of her. It was particularly satisfying to come back to Wimpole street and hear, "_Where the Devil are my slippers?"_ But the best part was hearing the thunderous applause as people came out to bow. She watched as everyone went on stage and was cheered and whistled at, even Severus drew an unbelievable response. And as she walked on stage, she was almost paralysed when the audience stood up and furiously applauded as she joined the front line of the cast, between Severus and Neville. It was so tremendously uplifting, like seeing heaven in the darkness she faced. They joined hands and bowed as the curtain dropped, and yet they kept clapping, so the curtain went up again. In fact after five curtain calls they still didn't stop, and at that point, Deb ran out on stage and curtseyed gracefully, which drew even more applause. Eventually, they stopped clapping, Hermione lost count of when.

As the audience filed into the entrance hall the cast began to pack up. Neville took the counter-age-potion and returned to himself. People took back the pieces of clothing, props, anything they had lent to the production. Dean took some of the things he'd made and Ginny took some of the costumes. Harry was so enamoured of his suit, he insisted he be allowed to keep it. Ron was not so inclined. (Hermione suspected Severus had put his embassy ball suit away somewhere for safe-keeping.) They all collected on stage, undisguised and their ordinary selves, ready to hear Deb's response.

"Well, I don't think you need me to tell you it was brilliant." Everybody sighed and laughed with relief. "It was a gigantic feat. Really colossal. Never doubt the potential of any person to do anything. Now say goodbye to the set…in ten seconds it's going to disappear forever…Ten…Nine…"

People looked about themselves fondly. Some caressed the curtains, others simply sighed nostalgically as they read the boards. Hermione looked to the blue velvet box she was holding. Thee was nothing else she needed to hold on to.

"Three…two…one.!" Deborah waved her wand and everything disappeared. They were suddenly surrounded again by the long house tables and benches and the staff table at behind them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, give yourselves a round of applause."

The cast clapped and cheered for themselves, hat last burst of energy being expelled in admiration of their achievement. Now everything was over.

That evening Dumbledore held a party, a real celebration of everything that had happened for hr good, and it had lasted well into the morning, with lots of music and other intoxicating things, though all were charmed to be no so for the younger ones. Hermione remembered doing something with professor Vector and sincerely hoped it was dancing. After some serious teasing from Deborah, she did find out it was only dancing, to her huge relief.

It seemed like the very next day students were packing their bags onto the Hogwarts Express, though in reality it was some weeks. Hermione said her goodbyes to everyone, promising to write and to see everyone, particularly Neville, whose grandmother was quite ill. She did the rounds and returned to watch as Ron and Harry packed their bags into their compartment and Harry very gallantly took Ginny's on for her.

 "I'm going to miss this place so much," said Harry, looking at the castle shrouded in the Scottish Highland fog.

"You can come back and visit any time you want," Hermione reminded him, "Dumbledore wouldn't mind."

"I'd still feel pathetic," Harry laughed.

"And with good reason," Ron added. "You should never come back to school. It implies you haven't gone anywhere."

"Sure you won't come back with us?" Ron asked Hermione, "Mum won't mind."

"No," Hermione said firmly, "The last thing you need in your house is another body."

"You could come back to Grimmauld place," Harry suggested.

"What for?" Hermione smiled, "You're not going to live in it, so what would I do with it. No, my mind's made up. Besides, Snape Manor is so much closer to Mt Olympus."

"I can't BELIEVE you're going to LIVE in Snape manor. I mean, would you ever have thought?"

"It's a little bizarre…to say the least actually. But I'll definitely meet you in Marseilles for the World Quidditch Cup in eight weeks. My parents bought a house there, so I'll supply accommodation, Ron can supply tickets and Harry can supply food. Deal?"

"Deal." The boys chimed. "promise to write?" Harry asked.

"Promise." She answered. "But you must too," She looked at both of them. "Right?"

"Right."

The train blew its whistle and students started to move. She gave Harry a quick hug so he could say goodbye to Hagrid, and was left alone with Ron, who stood opposite her awkwardly.

"Oh Ron," she sighed, and grabbed him into a hug. He patted her awkwardly, and she laughed a little. "Make sure Harry takes care of your sister."

"Yeah," he said, "And if Snape so much as looks at you—"

"I'll write you at once," She assured him. "Now get on that train!"

Ron clambered onto the train and Harry rushed in after him. Harry magicked the window away so he could fully stick himself out.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted.

"I can do it now!" Harry crowed, "I'm a wizard!"

As the train pulled out of the station, the pair grinned and waved at her, and she grinned and waved back.

"We love you Hermione!" Harry called.

"Love you too!"

Hermione walked out of Hogsmeade station, torn between bliss and miss. Everything was exactly as it should be, and yet she had the vague feelings of missing people. It was hard to contain. She passed under the archway and into the sun on the outside road, where a large, black open carriage drawn by a large black horse was waiting with one man in black sitting inside. She came to stand beside it.

"They're gone?" He asked.

"Gone." She sighed.

"You're alright?"

"I'm alright." She looked out along the road that lead into Hogsmeade and into the wide world.

"What about you?" Hermione asked.

"Dumbledore wasn't too happy, but he said it would be easier to replace a potions teacher than a Defence against the Dark Arts teacher."

"You sure you wanted to do that?"  
"I've grown out of teaching."

"I'm sorry when did you grow into teaching? I don't remember that."

He smiled his smile derisive smile and looked away.

"Where's Deborah?"

"Oh, she's coming. But she's decided not to take the same method of transport."

"Why not?"

"I made a bet with her."

"You WHAT?"

"I bet her that we would get to Snape Manor first if we took the carriage and she took her bucking broom. If she wins, I lose the house. If I win, a tattoo of her arse."

"But…she'll win."

"You're right Hermione," Said Deb, striding up the path, broom on her shoulder, "I will."

"I'll see you in five days, when I'm sitting on your doorstep and your pulling that horse up the hill."

"Very well, devil woman, we shall see. Now mount that ridiculous thing and be off with you."

She laughed her manic laugh, unshouldered the broom and rolled onto it, at which point it immediately began trying to kill her as it rose in the air.

"See you later, losers!" Deb cried as she bounced and wobbled into the horizon, " YEEEEEHAAAH!!!!!"

"She's going to win," Hermione repeated.

"Not this time."

"We've only got a horse."

He snorted. "Only got a horse indeed! You don't think that is just a horse do you?"

Hermione looked to the quadruped. It did seem awfully like a horse.

"Get in." 

Hermione climbed into the carriage and sat down beside him on the seat.

"You may want to put these on." He handed her a pair of black goggles, which she put on, though quite curiously.

"Now, do you really think she can beat this? Avanti!"

The horse reared at the command, suddenly sprouting crow-black wings the size of the carriage itself. It jumped into the air with a start and flapped to some height above the ground.

"We'll be at Snape manor in two days," Snape shouted, "Let's see what the maniac has to say then! GEE-UP!"

And as the horse wound itself into a gallop, the carriage sailed away from Hogwarts and into the wide world.

THE END…as you know it.


End file.
